Seeping Wounds: The 80th Hunger Games
by ElementalEvolution
Summary: "A wound? That is but a scratch! The wounds that seep are the ones that fall from their eyes. Their tears will shine as clear as day, like the memories of the corpses that will soon lie before them, forever oozing nightmares." Peeta and Katniss are dead. The rebellion has failed. The Hunger Games continue as normal. What awaits the tributes in this year's deadly arena?
1. Luca Fawkes: A Man With A Mask

**Hello, and welcome to the 80****th**** Hunger Games, my wonderful avid readers!**

**It is ElementalEvolution here, and this is my first SYOT. I felt like doing one, and I have been told that I am good at writing in other people's views, so I thought I would test myself with 24 different views! **

**So, I'm saying now, I don't have a beta reader, because I want to be able to learn to write perfectly by correcting my own mistakes. So, if there are any mistakes or problems, please tell me! XD**

**Let's introduce our Gamemaker, shall we? **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of Suzanne Collins' ideas! I own nothing other than the arena and Luca Fawkes!**

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><p><strong><span>Luca Fawkes, Head Gamemaker POV<span>**

Black, highly polished shoes touch the white carpet. A suit of metallic blue shimmers in the electric lights. Eyes, burning like molten gold in a hot furnace. A square jaw, high cheekbones, tanned skin. Hair trimmed short, not a single hair out of line, glowing a literal gold. Sparkling white teeth, peeking out from beneath smiling lips.

Me. Luca Fawkes. The new Head Gamemaker. And I am _loving _it. That last idiot did a crap arena, and look where it got him. I mean, _come on_! Wheat fields for an arena? Boring. And he was a prat too. And the Gamemaker before him…Pluto Heaventree or something? And the dumbass before him too – the one who let that girl get away with the berry trick. They were all idiots. Lucky I was there to step up the game.

I wink at the hot secretary as she walks past in her black skirt and white blouse. She flushes red and drops her files on the floor, before scrambling to scoop them up. I don't bother looking back. I'll get her later.

I turn the corner and arrive at the Presidents office. The pristine white door competes with (and loses to) my pearly whites as they disappear behind my closing lips. The interview about the arena may have gone well, but the President needs seriousness, not overconfidence and cockiness. I knock three times on the door, and wait for a few seconds before I am let in.

I inspect the room with a small polite smile on my face, although I desperately want my full boyish smile to make its reappearance. The room is a deep scarlet accompanied by more white carpet. One of the rooms walls is a floor-to-ceiling window which overlooks the tall sparkling buildings of the Capitol in the warm afternoon sun. In front of said window, is a desk made from polished black obsidian, holding a few photo frames with smiling faces, and other meaningless personal items. The President; Coriolanus Snow, sits calmly behind his desk, staring at me with his cunning icy orbs, twisting a perfect white rose in between his crinkled fingertips.

"Luca," he says calmly. "Please, sit down,"

I obey him silently, my face relaxed and calm. Unlike many others, this man did not scare me. What could an old man do to a sexilicious guy like me? Bombard me with roses? Hit me with his nightcap?

"You called for me, President?" I say, smiling.

"Yes Luca, I did," replies the President. "First of all, congratulations on becoming the new Head Gamemaker,"

"Thanks," I answer, smirking slightly.

"Judging by your expression, you look happy to be in that position," says President Snow. "That means I have a motivated Head Gamemaker. Hopefully, you will do better to please me than Debra did last year,"

"Yes Mr. President," I reply. "I have a particularly deadly arena conjured up this year. It will easily boost the interest of the Capitol and keep the Districts cowering in fear,"

"Excellent," President Snow tells me. "Because if you fail, you will regret it,"

He reaches over to the hologram and switches it on. An image immediately pops up, taking on the shape of a laughing young boy, playing around with toy swords and chasing other boys through green grass and vibrant bluebells. The boy is around nine or ten, with dark golden hair and green eyes, both of which glint away under the setting sunlight.

Antiseptic fluid gathers through the eye ducts in my eyes, creating a blur that I have to blink away. My irises dilate in sorrow and I worry over the small boy. The deep colour of my eyes reflect my sudden feeling of homesickness.

Oh how I wish that I could see them once more. To breathe in the sweet scent of the white honeysuckle that grows on the walls of our home, to move into the stroking limbs of the suns rays as the heat and the breeze dances lazily over my face. I haven't gone back in nearly a year. I missed Christmas.

"Kile," I say, the name of my younger brother having been unspoken upon my lips for so long. Too long. There is an unexpected lump in my throat, but I cough it away.

"I expect it to be a good arena," warns President Snow.

"It will be," I confirm, still watching Kile play with his friends. After this is finished…I'll see if I can visit for a week or two.

"It will be the best of them all," I mutter, the water in my eyes reflecting a spectrum of light. A single and lonely tear falls, the light still shining through it as it tumbles through the air in an almost motionless fashion. The tear represents me. Lonely. The one who needs to go back home. I am the lost boy. And I want to be home again, in the hot stuffy kitchen that smells of freshly baked cupcakes, or the garden that smells of damp and fresh earth. Even the warmth of my mothers hug has long left my broad shoulders, forgotten and unlikely to return. I need Kile and my mother to be happy. I need to see them. These children need to provide the best show ever, or I am done. Kile…I promise I will make it back home to you. No, I won't promise. Because I know I will.

The tear lands on the carpet, where I suspect that many other tears have fallen, but right now, my tear is the most important. Kile and Mum are the most important. To me, they are everything.

_Mum, please keep Kile safe…_

It looks like I am going to need to add some finishing touches to my arena.

This year's Games is really going to have to be more vicious than the last. And I am one of the players. I'm afraid of this old man now. What will he do? He could just click his fingers, and my whole world would come crashing down.

I cannot afford to fail.

Or the President will destroy my soul.

"You are dismissed Luca," President Snow decides, obviously thinking that a threat on Kile's life was enough to make me become compliant. And it was. I leave the room, sliding my seductive smile back on my face. My good mood has been dampened by my meeting with the President. I'll show him. For Mum…and for Kile.

I strut into the Gamemakers room, the Gamemakers sitting there in their little white suits and playing with their holograms and fancy gadgets.

"Right!" I shout to them. "Let's get this arena done and this show on the road!"

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><p><strong>That was just a little starter for you all XD<strong>

**What do you think of Luca Fawkes? Bless little Kile…**

**I'll update soon XD**


	2. District One Reapings

**Hello, my excellent readers. It is time for the 80****th**** Hunger Games! Excited? I am. **

**Thank you to Guest: TheEvilLittleBitch (crazy name!) and BamItsTyler for submitting our two wonderful District One Tributes XD**

**I really hope I've caught your characters…**

**Now…Reaping Time!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, or anything to do with it.**

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><p><span><strong>Hans Schmittling, District One POV<strong>

I violently impale the dummy standing next to me with my sword. Clapping, my mentor Elana commends me on my efforts as both arms of the dummy flop onto the floor. I can barely hear her as I run over to the weapons rack, picking up several small knives in my large palms. I look into the reflection on the blades, and I see my determined face; black glittering eyes, and mousey brown hair. I smirk at myself. This year, I'm volunteering, at the age of eighteen. I'm in prime condition, and I'm ready to kill everyone who opposes me and come home as victor. That'll make Dad notice me.

I leap up and into a double somersault, flying through the air gracefully. I throw my knives at the same time as I spin through the air like a Catherine wheel, the light arching and bending off of the blades' shiny surfaces. The blades make small whizzing sounds as I send them flying into the dummy 20 metres away. As I land, Elana whoops and claps some more. I turn around to inspect the dummy, only to find that there is now a perfect line of knives embedded in it; from head to foot. I chuckle, smiling at my victory, but as I turn away, I realise that I have fallen short of my goal. One knife, one tiny _fucking _knife is lying on the floor underneath the dummy. Feeling red-hot tendrils of fire run through me, I stomp over to the dummy and pick up the knife, ripping off the head of the dummy and stabbing it several times before throwing it against the wall. It bounces off and hits this kid on the head. The kid looks around, confused as to where the head had come from, but he only shrugs and continues training.

"Perfect!" Elana says, smiling. "Ten years training and you're easily the strongest male this year. I hope you're volunteering?"

"Well, duh?" I snort, still a little fired up. "I'll just tear up all of those kids and be right back home as victor, like that Royce dude who won last year,"

"Brilliant!" she trills, and checks her watch for the time. "You've got about an hour,"

"Who cares?" I retort. "I'll be the first to volunteer before any of those slugs have a chance to take a step towards the stairs,"

Ten minutes later, I find myself back at home. I jump quickly into the shower to rinse off the sweat and hardships of training, and I take my time as I style my hair to make me look hot for the ladies. They're always after me, but I don't need them yet. I will win the Hunger Games first, and then I can just pick and choose. All I have to do is to flex one of my biceps, and the girls go wild. A girl even fainted once. I dress myself in a red shirt that hugs my muscles, and black trousers complete with a set of designer black shoes. I am ready to go. My Mom and my eleven year old sister, Cirrus, have already left for the reapings, and have left me a cheese sandwich in the kitchen. As for Dad, he's working. Again. He works as an assistant to the mayor and he never stops to even notice me. I've always wanted to volunteer for the Games, but if I make my father proud…maybe he'll notice me more, and be proud of me. I've told Mom and Cirrus about it, but I asked them to keep it a surprise for Dad. They understood. With a victor in the family, Dad might pay more attention to us all.

I walk briskly down to the reaping, gobbling up my cheese sandwich in a few wolfish bites, before signing in. I don't even feel the needle in my finger anymore – I'm so buzzed and ready for volunteering that I almost run into the eighteen year old section. I tower over most people as I stare at the stage. The reaping soon starts.

I'm ready for this. I wait for our escort, who appears to resemble some sort of traffic light with her red hair, orange dress and green tights. She babbles on about nonsense for about ten minutes before she decides to totter over to the girls reaping bowl and pick out a name.

A sudden call of "I VOLUNTEER!" can be heard from the 17 year old section as a girl walks up to the stage and mounts it. She tells everyone arrogantly that her name is Tiffany Splendour. Black curly hair, dark skin; not too bad with a spear if I remember correctly. That's about all there is to her. And she'll obviously be joining the career pack. Looks like I'll have to get used to her hanging around for a little while.

Hmph. I've seen her once before in the training centre with her friends. I rolled my eyes, because when you're going into the Hunger Games, you don't make friends. Friends always let you down, so the only thing you should trust is yourself. I trust myself to be the strongest of them all. I'm going to fight to be in charge of the career pack this year. I can feel it in my blood. I am a winner, and I am destined to win. I was born to win; no ifs and no buts. As the escort walks over the reaping ball, I shout "I VOLUNTEER!" out so loud that several of the boys around me cover their ears. I stride up to the stage, punching several volunteers in the face as they try and swarm to the stage to steal my glory. Seriously! Those dickheads didn't even say they volunteered.

After a great deal of kicking and punching, as well as the occasional throw of a person off of the stage, I face the crowd, taking in their staring faces. I do not look for Mom's or Cirrus' stares, because I know they will miss me, even when they know I'll win.

"Your name?" asks the escort.

"Hans Schmittling," I reply. "And I'm cutting down anyone who's in my way of victory,"

I turn and look at the girl – Tiffany - in the eye, as if to tell her that I'm in charge, and I swear I see her shiver. I smile a crooked grin as my hand closes around hers. There is no way that this bitch is winning.

**Tiffany Splendour, District One POV**

My eyes snap open, searching into my extravagant bedroom. I stretch and yawn widely, dragging my feet over to the mirror. My reflection stares back at me tiredly. Reaping day today. I grab a brush with a jeweled handle and rake it through my black locks, trying to organize my curls into some sort of formation. My mind quickly wanders off to today's reaping. I'm volunteering today. Dad is a victor, and he's always wanted what's best for me. He wants me to follow in his footsteps and win the Hunger Games. Mom seems to agree with him, but she's not so serious about it. She knows I'll be fine.

I decide to put off training today, instead making sure I have plenty of time to get ready. I shower, and take _way_ too long to find a dress that I feel like wearing. I eventually choose a ruby red pantsuit with red flats. It'll look nice on me and I'll still look menacing if I need to be. After a final few brushstrokes through my hair, I give up and get up to leave. My hair will have to be as it is for now. It curls around my head like an overgrown bush, complete with gnarled roots and twisting vines of black, hanging a considerable way down my neck. I heave an annoyed sigh at my disorganised curls, and I open the door. Without warning, I get an armful of Essence, my younger eleven year old sister.

"I don't want you to go," she mumbles into me. I hear a muffled sniff, and I pull her away, holding her small flawless hands in mine and she blinks back tears with difficulty. As I wipe the escaping tears from her face with my fingers, I can see that she is dressed in a light blue frock. She looks very similar to me, with her jet black hair and metallic brown eyes. Mom told me that I'm her role model. It's no wonder she's already missing me.

"I know," I reply, hugging her to me. I release her and take her hand.

"Let's go get some food," I suggest, and Essence follows me down the marble steps of our house to the kitchen, where Mom is frying some eggs and Dad is spreading butter onto his toast. Essence composes herself and sits down next to me at our glass and diamond table. The jewels glitter faintly as if to be serious about something.

"Morning Mom, Morning Dad," I say, and Essence repeats my notion.

"Morning Tiffany, Essence," Dad says, smiling over at us warmly. "It's your special day today Tiffany, so make sure to eat lots,"

I nod simply and start to eat my eggs and toast when Mom brings them over.

"Feeling alright?" Mom asks me kindly, adjusting the blouse she's wearing. She's always wearing suits. She runs a department store just down the road from here. "I'm so proud of you for volunteering, you'll make the family proud!"

"I'm not ready for her to go yet," mumbles Essence almost sulkily.

Dad raises his eyebrows at Essence.

"Well that's tough luck," he says sternly, his black eyes lifting slightly with his disapproving frown. "Tiffany's trained for years to do this, and it's finally her chance to do it,"

He turns back to me proudly.

"She'll have no problem winning, will you Tiffany?" he says, smiling again. My heart beats faster. Will I really be able to win this if I volunteer? But then I remember that this is not a question of worrying about winning, because I have to win. I can't imagine failing Dad, Mom or Essence – just the very thought of failure rocks me to my very core. I can't die. I have to live…for Essence.

"N-no," I say, stumbling over my speech a little.

"Sorry?" Dad says expectantly, sending me a piercing gaze that rips me to shreds. I can almost feel the scrape of the blade against my body as he waits impatiently for an answer.

"Lance-" Mom begins to say, seeing my hesitance. Dad however, silences her with a wave of his hand.

"No, Harmony," he states firmly. "Tiffany wants to volunteer, and she must be confident to make sure she's not underestimated by anyone in the Capitol,"

"I'm ready," I reassure my mother and nod to my Dad.

"That's my girl," He says. After a few moments, I hear a knock on the door.

"I'll get it!" I tell them, and I pad through the hallway to the door. I open the door, the stained glass reflecting rainbows on the floor, and I come face to face with Velvet.

"Hi!" says Velvet cheerfully. "You look amazing,"

I smile at my best friend's presence. Velvet had a habit of popping up at the worst times and bringing a smile to my face like that.

"Thanks Velvet," I say. "You're looking great too,"

She does. Velvet is wearing a pink frock that matches her dyed hair that has been separated into two pigtails. She looks vibrant and happy to see me.

"Let's go," Velvet tells me, grabbing my arm and trying to drag me out of the door.

"I'll see you later!" I shout to the house.

"Don't forget to volunteer!" Dad yells back.

"I won't!" I reply, and I am yanked away by Velvet before I can say another word.

We both walk through the Victors Village, which takes us quite a while considering it size. We pass hundreds of identical looking quaint houses, with neat gardens and sweet smelling flowers.

"So you're volunteering?" asks Velvet. I nod in reply. We talk about the Hunger Games and how I was going to win, before Royce pops up next to us. Royce was last year's victor of the Hunger Games. He's now nineteen and he's two years older than us, with deep blue eyes and sleek blond hair. His eyes have small black bags under them, and he looks like he's lost a few hours of sleep.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," Velvet replies.

"Uh…hi," I say.

Velvet gives me a knowing look, and I roll my eyes back her. Velvet is my best friend, so I tell her everything, including a little…incident…that happened between me and Royce. He used to be so happy and full of life before he volunteered for the games. Afterwards, his soul had been broken, and his face lots its colour over the trauma he'd been through. I comforted him to try and make him feel happier, but…one thing led to another, and I slept with him. I've only told Velvet about it, and she's promised to keep it a secret. Its not like Royce and I are together or anything, but what happened, happened and it's history.

"You're volunteering?" asks Royce suddenly, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Yeah," I reply slowly. I'm expecting an angry reaction from him, but instead his tone is apologetic as he speaks to me.

"If that's what you want," he says sadly, knowing that I would easily win an argument against him. "I'm your mentor this year, so I'll help you to win and give you advice,"

Again, I only nod in acknowledgement as we arrive in the town square sign in. Velvet and I walk over to the seventeen year old section, while Royce mounts the stage and sits in a chair reserved for the mentors. Within minutes, our escort, Rouge Flux walks up to the stage in her traffic light outfit. Frankly, it looks ridiculous to me.

As she struts over to the girls reaping ball, I shout

"I VOLUNTEER!"

I push my way through the other girls and walk up the steps after saying goodbye to Velvet, who smiles sadly and wishes me luck. As I tell Rouge my name, I link eyes with my father who wears a proud smile. My mother is next to him, her eyes shimmering with tears of happiness at her daughters dream. Essence however, is crying again. I feel guilty for leaving her behind, but I've been trained for so long to follow in Dad's footsteps, that this is what I need to do. This is my goal. As I stand before the whole of District One and shake the boy tributes' hand, I already find myself missing Essence.

_I will get back to you…_Is all I can think before I am ushered off of the stage.

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><p><strong>Well, now that is done. District Two, here I come!<strong>

**So, what did you think of our District One tributes? Hans seemed to go out of his mind over one tiny thing! How do you think this will affect him in the arena? As for Tiffany, how do you think Essence feels? And Tiffany for leaving her? Bless little Essence…**

**Please tell me what you think by PM-ing me or putting it into a review. I really want to know what people are thinking, so both praise and criticism is accepted. This is my first SYOT, and I want to make it as good as possible for you guys! **

**~ E.E. **


	3. District Two Reapings

**Here are the next reapings. Phew! School is really piling on the work! I have a Spanish exam so I'm quite nervous about talking about something that makes almost no sense to me. Nonetheless, I have churned out another chapter for you.**

**Radio Free Death: I see what you mean about Luca, but that is how I created him to be. I wanted the Gamemaker to be a little different. But, yeah maybe he could have been made to be better. Thanks for the review! **

**WendyHamlet: Yes, I'm reading the tribute forms countless times, and other than the bloodbath tributes given to me, I need to kill a couple off. It is painfully difficult, because everyone has submitted really interesting tributes and I don't want to kill any of them off! Haha, yes Hans *tuts*, and yeah poor little Essence…**

**thelastofdavid: Thanks for the review!**

**TheGlitchOnFire: Yes, Hans is looking like a big threat! He is definitely going to be a bloodthirsty one.**

**The Koala of Doom: Hans does get frustrated doesn't he? He really needs to calm down.**

**Hawkward Dolphin: Can't wait for the update did you say? Well, here it is!**

**212: Thanks! **

**Thank you to Titanic X and TheGlitchOnFire for submitting our District Two tributes XD**

**District Two, here we go!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own my own creations and ideas, as well as my ridiculously long author's notes.**

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><p><span><strong>Steven "Spray" Krane, District Two Male POV<strong>

I close my book on the sketch of a grenade with a small _snap_, putting it back on the wooden shelf in my room. The sunlight streams through my window and warms a patch of my carpet as it does so. If I look closely, I can see the tiny dust particles floating through the air like feathers, twisting and spiralling playfully as they collide and tumble over one another. There are so many of them, suspended in the Suns paralysing warmth as they drift through the air as if they were in space. They have no purpose; they are only there to float around. That makes me think harder. What if there was a purpose to dust? What would it be? The only purpose it seems to have now is to coat everything in its own grey hue, darkening rooms and clouding countless forgotten and lost items.

I decide to let it rest for now. The reapings are today and I need to get ready for them. We're one of the career districts, so generally we submit mindless brutes to win the games for us. Unlike me, they don't seem to care about human life at all, just killing for fun and in cold, wet blood. That's what annoys me about the careers. They're just so _stupid_. They rely on their strength to do things instead of their minds. That's why so many of them have failed to win in the past. There were other, smarter, tributes that outfoxed them and cut them down to bring glory to their own districts. And they deserved it. Many of the districts are so poor that I've heard that people just keel over in the streets and die. It's a world of poverty out there. If I was to ever go into the Hunger Games, I would try and help other districts to win. They are the ones who need the oil and food to survive. We have enough here anyway, so why would we want more? Glory. Fame. That's why. Most of the people here are so obsessed with winning and getting showered with kisses and roses, that they don't realise how people in the other districts are faring.

I bring a hand to my messy black hair and decide to have a shower. Afterwards, despite my efforts, my hair remains the same. Shrugging, I look through my wardrobe to put on some clothes. I choose a t-shirt that is blue on the top and white on the bottom, with green stripes on its sleeves. I also choose some black shorts and brown combat boots to go with them.

"Steven!" my Mom calls up to me, "Come and get your lunch!"

I run down stairs, seeing that Dad must have already left in his Peacekeeper uniform. He must already be in the town square, herding people into the pens that separate us by age. Mom doesn't work at all, so she tends to stay at home a lot. She gives me a morning kiss on the cheek and turns away again.

"I'm just making you some food," she chimes lovingly to me. She hums a tune as she makes me lunch.

"Thanks Mom," I tell her, and I sit down at the table.

After I'm finished I leave the house and set off towards the reapings. As I walk, I can hear some sort of blaring sound from behind me, which sounds a lot like the elongated version of

"Sprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!"

I turn see Zachary (better known as Zippy) Nelson, running towards me at god speed, his red hair almost being left behind him as he runs towards me. He looks as if he's trying to win a gold medal. The ten year old comes to a stop next to me, wearing a big smile upon his face, and not even breaking a sweat. Zippy is constantly hyper and he can be seen everywhere in the district, zooming around and shouting at the top of his voice. I feel sorry for Willma Nelson, Zippy's eighteen year old brother, who seems to have been left behind in a small dust cloud at the other end of the street.

"Hiya Spray!" Zippy cries, his little chest showing the only evidence that he's been running.

Yeah, Zippy came up with nicknames for all of us. Although they sounded a little dumb at first, they've just stuck ever since and we're all kind of used to them now. I'm known as "Spray" to Zippy. Willma also has a nickname – "Wingma", as well as our other friend, nineteen year old Bradley Harrison, who Zippy has nicknamed "Radar" for some unknown reason.

"Hi Zippy," I reply, smiling at the boys innocence and hyperactiveness.

"Spray! Spray! I have something to tell you," he says, visibly excited. "Did you hear the news?"

"What news, Zippy?" I ask him, confused. What has happened to get him so excited? If you think about it though, Zippy gets excited over almost anything, so this could easily be something completely insignificant. I was waiting for him to answer, but instead, he was poking something on my arm.

"What's that?" he asks, interested. "It looks so cool! How did you get it? Does it hurt when I poke it?"

I blink my brown eyes at him in question, but then I realise that he's talking about the tattoo I got a little while back. How could he have not noticed? He must have been running around too much to realise it was there…

"That's my tattoo," I explain to Zippy as he continues to poke it. The tattoo is of a single propeller plane; one of the ancient methods of transport that people used to use. How they survived without hovercrafts is a wonder to me. The top of the plane is blue with a white underbelly and green racing stripes on the edges of its wings.

"It's so cool," Zippy repeats again as Willma gets to us, followed closely by Bradley whom I had not noticed was there before. Both are panting a little.

"Caught up have ya?" Zippy teases them cheerfully. "I was about to tell Spray the news!"

"What news?" I say again, but Zippy is distracted by something and zooms off to the other side of the street yelling at the top of his voice.

Willma sighs and Bradley is serious.

"Hi guys," I say, not feeling awkward at the silence. I used to the quietness we share now.

"Hi Spray," Willma says.

"Hello," Bradley replies.

"Wingma, Radar, what is the news that Zippy keeps on going on about?" I ask.

"Bruticus is volunteering," Bradley says, his face solemn.

"He's been boasting about it all morning." adds Willma.

My thoughts swirl like a raging tornado. Bruticus is volunteering? I can't let that happen. He's a monster. He'll just kill and never stop; not even regarding the preciousness of life and the viciousness of how he will kill innocent children. They are far more deserving to go back to their families and live in happiness that he is.

No. I must make sure that another District wins this year, even if I have to sacrifice myself for it. My plan: instead of joining the careers, I'll work against them. I may not be as strong as they are, but I have had a little training and I am smarter. The words are out of my mouth before I can even stop them.

"I'm volunteering,"

"That is not a wise thing to do," Bradley says simply.

"Maybe you should think this over before you make a decision you don't want to make," says Willma hesitantly.

"Well, I'm doing it," I say, already determined and walking off towards the square, with Willma and Bradley trailing behind me. "I don't want Bruticus to kill people in ways that are so unjust."

Willma and Bradley try to calmly convince me to change my mind, but with no success. Something must be done about this, and I'm going to be the one to do it.

Zippy pops over for a short while as we wait in the line to sign in, eventually dragging Bradley away to watch.

"C'mon Radar!" he shouts happily. "Let's watch! This is fun!"

I chuckle internally at Zippy's unawareness as I sign in and walk to the seventeen year old section. Willma goes to the section behind me without a word, having given up on persuading me to change my mind. Our escort, a muscular man in a vest and trunks walks up to the stage, roaring to the crowd about the Hunger Games and how it is for only the honourable and strong. I swear he drenches the first row of twelve year olds with his spit as he spurs and animates the crowd. He barely takes a step in the direction of the girls reaping ball before a girl volunteers and pushes her way to the front. She announces that her name is Kleska Giori. As she says this, I start to run up to the stage.

"I VOLUNTEER!" I shout.

The escort sees me as he approaches the boys reaping ball and smiles. I hear Bruticus roar in anger behind me as I shoot up the steps of the stage. I had a head start on him, and he's quite slow too.

"YOUR NAME?" asks the escort, temporarily rendering me deaf. I cringe slightly.

"Steven Krane." I tell him clearly, wiping the spit off of my face. I look out over the crowd to see Bruticus furiously taking it out on a Peacekeeper and having to be held back; Zippy looking up at me in a confused way, while Bradley shakes his head; Willma nods at me once; my Mom is standing there shocked with an open mouth…

I know I'm probably hurting every single one of them, but this year, another district must win. Even if I have to die to save them. I will save them.

**Kleska Giori, District Two Female POV**

I shut the door, having come in from training, sweating but relaxed. Training always soothes my mind and it keeps me in shape – especially seen as I'm volunteering today.

"I'm back!" I shout, waiting for the giggling sounds of Al and Lydy as they come rushing up to me. Instead, only my Mom calls back with a barely audible greeting.

I walk down our hall, kicking off my shoes at the door. Our house isn't the nicest in District Two. Al, Lydy and I all have different fathers, and they all left Mom to feed and look after us on her own. Because of that, we were quite poor, and I had to sign up for tesserae for two years. Recently though, my Mom started working in a sword making factory in the poorer part of our district, so things have been a little easier for us recently with all the hard work she's been doing.

I walk into the kitchen, the wooden sides darkened from being wiped clean, and the floor vacant of any dust whatsoever. I see Mom preparing sandwiches on one side of the kitchen, but Al and Lydy are nowhere to be seen.

"Hi Kleska, how was training today?" Mom asks.

"It went well." I reply.

Mom really wants us to train as much as possible, because it makes her proud and we will bring glory to the family. I've already been told that I have been chosen to volunteer this year. Lydy, who is twelve, is pretty good too, although nowhere near as good as I am. She still has a few years of training ahead of her. Al is only eight, but he's already been confirmed as the volunteer when he turns fourteen. He's sweet, but still deadly with a knife.

"How long has it been now…ten years since you started training?" says Mom, her eyes glazing over in memory. "And look at you now, you're all grown up. I'm so proud of you,"

"Thanks Mom," I reply with a smile. "But I am only fifteen; I'm not really all grown up…"

My Mom raises her eyebrows and gives me a kind smile.

"Kleska, your age has never stopped you before," she tells me, cutting up some cheese as she does so. "Just because you're younger than most of the careers, it doesn't mean that they're better than you. I remember your first day of training. You were only five and you weren't fazed as you picked some knives and threw them. Ever since, you've gotten stronger and braver. You're my wonderful girl, and today the spotlight is on you. Now, can you go and get Al and Lydy from the garden for me? They need to eat their lunch and I want to get them ready,"

"Sure." I answer her, and I open the back door and walk out into our small garden. It's a lumpy plot of land, but nonetheless, there are a few trees in the garden which have been scored with the marks of countless throwing knives that once were embedded into their trunks. In the small clearing of space, Al and Lydy appear to be sparring. Lydy holds her knife in a firm grip as she leaps around Al, her waist long hair bouncing around as metallic _clinks_ can be heard as blades clash. Al seems to be defending his own quite well, blocking Lydy's attacks with growing tiredness. Finally, Lydy's extra four years of training give her justice as Al is disarmed by her.

"I won! I won! I won!" she cheers happily, jumping up and down.

"Well done Lydy!" I say. "That was great!"

Lydy hides herself in her hair, embarrassed a little at the unexpected compliment, but smiling too. Al laughs and runs up to me, not caring that he has lost. "Kleska!" he says happily. I give him a hug, and tell him "Mom wants you and Lydy to go inside to have some lunch,"

Al nods sweetly.

"OK!" he cries and grabs Lydy (who still hides under her hair) and drags her inside. I sigh and prepare myself. Not long until the reapings.

I slide three throwing knives out of my belt and I throw them swiftly - one following the other - into a nearby tree. I do this again with another three; this time all three are in the air before the first knife hits the tree. More knives shoot through the air like bullets, carving lines into the wood that spell out letters. I do all of this with deadly accuracy, and I step back to admire my beautiful work. Written across the tree trunk are the words "I'll miss you – Kleska"

The words are true, because I will miss them, but I'll be back soon with a better house for our family and lots of money. I rip out the knives and replace them in my belt, quickly walking back inside to have my lunch. After that, I bolt up the stairs to my room and I shower, washing off the tree sap on my hands and the sweat on my body. I dry my hair, and plait it before using a golden hairband to put the plait into a high ponytail. My green eyes watch my fingers carefully as I style my hair with upmost precision. I then proceed to get a dress out of the wardrobe; it is a red lace dress that is tight at the top and has a flowing skirt that falls to my knees. Around my waist, I put on a golden belt for added effect. I look at myself in the mirror, taking in my small frame. Like Mom said, I may be young and small, but I'm so much better than the rest of the careers. I'm definitely winning this year – No. Matter. What.

I race downstairs and tell Mom that I'll see her later, almost falling out of the front door in my haste to get to the town square. I'm planning on knocking on Margo's house. Margo Helshmet is my best friend, and I said that I was going to meet her for the reaping today. We've been through thick and thin together, and we've trained as partners for ages. She's nearly as good with knives as I am.

In less than five minutes, I'm knocking on her door. Margo answers it, and her face breaks out into a smile.

"Hey Kleska!" she says.

"Hi Margo," I reply. "Are you coming with me to the reapings?"

"Give me a couple of minutes." Margo answers me, and ducks behind the door to put on some shoes. Margo is wearing a lovely sunshine yellow dress with matching flats. Once she's ready, we walk off arm in arm towards the reapings, talking briefly about our dresses before turning to the topic of the Hunger Games.

"I'm so excited for the reapings," I tell her. "I'm going to bring glory to our district and my family,"

"I wish I was chosen to volunteer," Margo says enviously.

A small boy from the local orphanage hears this and scoffs.

"You're getting nowhere," he says spitefully. "You'll be dead in the first three minutes!"

"Why don't you go tell your Mom that?" I retort. "Oh yeah…you haven't got one!"

Margo laughs along with me as the small boy holds back sudden tears with difficulty. Looks like this kid can give but he can't take.

"Aww, is Mommy not there to comfort you?" Margo teases, and the boy starts to cry. He scurries off in the opposite direction, trying desperately to stop the flow of tears from streaming down his face. Margo and I laugh a little more before continuing onwards.

We soon arrive at the reapings, and we sign in, wiping away the drop of blood from the tiny slit on the tips of our fingers, onto pieces of paper with lots of boxes printed on them. I follow Margo to the fifteen year old section, just as our muscular escort announces that the girl is going to be reaped.

"I'll see you in a few minutes." I tell Margo and I walk up to the stage.

I make sure that my "I volunteer!" is loud enough for the escort to hear me, before I tell everyone my name. Suddenly I find myself shaking hands with the boy tribute. I take in his lean physique. Isn't he meant to be stronger and more muscular? Male tributes are supposed to be strong, but this guy looks like he's been starved for a week. I see Bruticus trying to break free of the hold of several Peacekeepers as he shouts obscenities to the boy tribute.

I assess his determined stare as he looks over the crowd. Who knows? Maybe this boy could be stronger than he looks, although, I'd easily beat him in a fight. In fact, I can already see myself taking him down. It's a shame that he'll be a part of the career alliance though. I guess it'll give me longer to savour the hunt…and the kill. And I'm already prepared to get started.

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><p><strong>Ooh! That last part was a little sinister, I must admit. I found Steven was entertaining to write – especially Zippy XD<br>****Kleska was a little harder because her character is harder to capture, but I hope I've done her justice!**

**What did you think of hyperactive Zippy and Steven? What did you think of Steven's tattoo? And how long do you think it will take before Al or Lydy find Kleska's message on the tree trunk? What do you think of Kleska herself? Sinister? Cocky?**

**I will get District Three up soon; it'll give me a small break from the career attitude. I'm thinking, maybe Thursday? **

**Phew, 4 down, 20 to go!**

**~ E.E.**

**P.S. Thank you for so many reviews! I didn't realise that people are so devoted to this story already! It shows me how much you want your tributes to win. Now, I'll have a harder job of deciding which ones to die, heheheh.**

**Keep 'em coming in!**


	4. District Three Reapings

**I am back again everyone! Ah…District Three…a short break from the careers.**

**212: Haha, I love your enthusiasm. Thanks for the review!**

**WendyHamlet: Yeah, Kleska does come across as mean, but at the same time, if you look inside of her, you can see that she cares for her family, like the other tributes. Well, maybe except for Hans…he doesn't appear to care about anything at the moment.**

**TheGlitchOnFire: I'm glad you liked how I wrote her! Al and Lydy ARE quite sweet aren't they. You're suspicious of Steven are you, hm? Well, all will soon be revealed.**

**TheKoalaOfDoom: Yes, Steven and Hans are looking to clash aren't they?**

**OceaneBreeze13: Well, I wouldn't call myself an advanced writer, but thank you anyway! Thanks so much for the extra nitty-gritty advice! Hopefully this chapter will really crack down on the sentence structure and the replacement of commas with the full stop.**

**Here is the District Three Reapings that you have all been waiting for! Thank you very much to 212 and Onodera-kun for submitting the District Three tributes!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own the arena I've made.**

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><p><span><strong>Franz Wight, District Three Male POV<strong>

I feel broken. This is my first reaping. As a short, skinny, and fairly harmless twelve year old, my name is in that bowl just once. So, why do I worry? One tiny slip of paper with my name on it, and suddenly it seems to be so significant to me now compared to how it was before. Maybe that was because I was foolish back then. Maybe it was because I never really understood the Hunger Games. Until Dad told me all about it.

I've been worrying all night about what could happen today, tossing and turning in my bed like a ship in a ferocious storm. The waves of my despair drench the boat, and the whipping winds allow me no concealment from the biting cold of the truth. I've cried so many times through the night, waking up from nightmares filled with mutts and tributes out for my blood. My screaming fails drive them away, and only the opening of my swollen eyelids allows me a few minutes of peace before my fatigue drags me back into a world hellish hallucinations. I've lots count the number of times that Mom has been in to comfort me.

I'm not ready for this. I don't know how to fight. I'm weak. Why must the Capitol be so unfair to children like me? Although I hate to consider myself as a child, that is what I am right? A helpless being who must kill others to live. If I get picked to go into that arena, then I wouldn't be surprised if I died straight away. There is no way that I could fight another tribute, let alone a career.

I sigh to myself as I shut my laptop. I'm quite a lonely person, because I'm a bit of a crybaby really. Even the slightest insult can set me off. I run away, but not to home. I'm forcing myself to be more confident, to be stronger and to stand up to those bullies. I can't just run to Mom all the time or I'll just get overly dependent on her. It is starting to work, but they're only calling me worse things now. I'm just going to have to build up some kind of a resistance against them. Then, all of the insults will be bounced back into their faces.

I take a bath, thoroughly washing every strand of my straw coloured hair as I do so. I decide to dress in a green shirt to match my emerald eyes and some dark blue jeans. I brush my hair into a sort of neat-ish style, and troop downstairs.

Dad is at the table, with his dark golden hair and blue eyes scanning some text on some paper. His eyes are glowing with worry and anticipation. Dad works as a chip designer. He tries to compress things into the smallest gadgets ever, so that it could all be carried at once with no trouble at all.

My Mom sits opposite my Dad, her blonde curls pulled over one shoulder and her blue eyes shining with fresh tears. I hide partially behind the doorframe, and peek in, eavesdropping on their conversation.

"He has his name in there once – what difference is it going to make?" Dad says, sounding exasperated. "There is a one in a million chance that he is going to get chosen!"

"One in a million chances happen all the time," Mom replies, worried. "He could easily get chosen. And look at him! He can't defend himself against those big kids! Franz will die in there!"

"Christina honey, Franz will be fine. He is not going to get reaped. And even if he does, he's clever and he can be pretty stealthy too. He'll survive long enough for people to realise that he is not a pushover." My Dad tries to calm Mom's nerves, but with little success.

"But what if he doesn't?" Mom says, her head in her hands. "What if he _dies_ in there Mike?"

I choose to walk into the kitchen at this point, not wanting to hear what Dad has to say.

"What do you think?" I ask them, showing them my shirt and jeans.

Mom's eyes overfill with tears and they start to make lines down her face.

"My b-baby b-boy." she sobs, and my eyes well up and start to leak too. Before I know it, both of us are crying in Dad's arms.

"We'll be alright," he says. "We'll be alright."

But I don't believe him, because I can hear it in his voice that he's scared for me too. He's scared at what could happen to me in there. Will I end up as a corpse with gaping knife holes in my chest? Or arrow barbs rooted in the muscles of my rotting body? Or do I even have the slim chance of escaping the arena to live my life with what I've seen?

I calm myself down long enough to eat my lunch and latch onto my Mom's hand as we walk to the reapings. I am signed in, and I start crying again because of the pain. I tell myself to get it together and try to be a brave boy, but I only breakdown further as older kids point and laugh at me. I make it to the front row of the twelve year old section I'm in and I wait for a little while. The escort turns out to be a man who doesn't appear to speak. He has dark chocolate-coloured skin and wears a suit with sunglasses.

He claps loudly to gain our attention before pointing wordlessly at a large white screen. A film starts which tells us the story of the first and second failed rebellions. I'm shaking so hard in fear that my knees hurt when they knock together. The film finishes, and the black man walks silently over to the girls reaping bowl before picking a slip and reading out the name. We finally hear his voice; a low somber tone with the rhythm of a chanting cantor. His voice echoes through the square, dooming ones life as he reads out a girl's name.

She walks slowly to the front, as pale as a ghost and looking as if she's just seen one too, her hands fidgeting as she stares nervously out into the crowd. Her name is Rachelle McKenzie. The escort strolls over to the boys reaping bowl and plunges his hand in deeply. He roots around for a minute and takes out the slip, stepping up to the microphone once more and he unfolds the slip of paper.

_Please, not me. Anyone but me. _I chant in my head.

The man opens the slip of paper.

I really hope it's not me.

But it is.

"Franz Wight."

And there I am, crying and standing still as the crowd parts for me to move. I don't move though, because I am in shock, standing there, scared stiff as the tears roll down my face. Eventually Peacekeepers have to drag me to the stage, and they dump me at the feet of the escort as I continue to cry. Dad appears to be deathly pale with the fact that I've just been reaped. Mom is being held back by Peacekeepers as she screams my name over and over, sobs racking her body as she wallows in the sorrow and loss she now feels as I sit on the stage. She knows I'm going to die. _I _know I'm going to die. Rachelle comes over to me and rubs my back to help me calm down.

The chance of me being reaped was miniscule – like a one in a million chance. But like Mom said, one in a million chances happen all the time.

**Rachelle McKenzie, District Three Female POV**

I finish off drawing the meadow on the paper, and I reach over to grab a sharpener. I walk over to the window, calmly open it, and let the shavings fall onto the heads of the people in the street. We're not really rich enough to have bins in our rooms, and I can't be bothered to walk all the way down stairs just to sharpen my pencil.

A middle aged man noticed this, and brushed the shavings out of his hair.

"What the hell are you doing kid? Stop that!" he yells.

"Deal with it old man!" I shout back, laughing manically as he stomps off in fury.

I finish sharpening, and I retrace the lines of my drawing; the curves of the petals on the spring flowers, the spiky blades of the green growing grass, and even the long dangling branches of the willow tree in the centre of the picture. I love to draw. I can imagine worlds where I can be safe, and where nobody will judge me for who I am. A lesbian. It's not frowned upon in Panem to be lesbian, gay or bisexual, but there are always the small minority that like to laugh at you and call you names. Luckily, my family were really accepting. Dad left Mom when my younger sister, Kailie was born. Shortly after that, my Mom contracted AIDS and died. No wonder people laugh at me and call my Mom a whore. In reply, I give them the middle finger, or go into ultimate sass mode. I gotta say that I'm probably the sassiest girl in town, and hell do I use it. If someone insults me, then they get sassed out so badly that they can't even think of something to reply with. I colour in the petals of the meadow flowers in a vibrant pink, while I consider what I'll be wearing today. I have the looks of a typical person from District Five, even though I'm from District Three; ginger curled hair and bright green eyes. I hear that they're called foxes now-a-days. To be fair though, last years boy tribute looked exactly like one, and I remember a girl tribute when I was younger that people dubbed "Foxface", so I guess that figures.

I put my drawing to one side, and I scramble over to my pile of clothes. I decide on a grey pleated skirt with a blue blouse and black kitten heeled shoes. That will be good enough to look nice at the reapings. I walk down the stairs to meet the rest of my family for the hellish day ahead of us. Either Kailie, who's twelve, or myself, who's fifteen, could get reaped. It doesn't help that I've taken tesserae for Kailie, Jamie, Jamie's daughter, Jamie's wife and myself. Jamie if you were wondering, is my nineteen year old brother who has foolishly married at such a young age and has had a child. He's the only income source of the family, seen as _she_ doesn't do anything except for look after the baby. I grab my lunch and walk out of the door before they can even say "Good Morning."

I don't want another family skirmish on my hands. It's rather tense in the house at the moment, and I don't want to participate in another screaming match.

I decide to meet Maisy Maid, my next door neighbour and best friend. She's one of my classmates at school and you can't separate us. She's perfectly fine with my homosexuality, and I've already told her that I consider her as a sister, not a lover, so we're practically the strongest two friends that you could ever meet. I almost drag her from her house in her white dress and matching heels.

"Another argument?" she asks me.

"No," I say. "But I could have easily sassed them and shut that bitch right up if I wanted to."

Maisy laughs.

"Yeah, you could totally sass them out," she tells me. "You're the sassiest diva around."

"I can't help but be worried about Kailie though," I admit, wondering how my younger sister must be feeling. I shouldn't have left her like that, but I guess it's too late now. I'll see her at the reapings.

Maisy looks apologetically at me as she rubs my shoulder.

"I'm sure she'll be fine, she's only got a few in the reaping bowl."

"Hmm…" I say.

"You should be more worried about yourself," Maisy tells me. "How many times is your name in there?"

"About twenty I think," I reply. "Something around that. I've lost count,"

I shrug nonchalantly. "They wouldn't dare to pick me anyway. Oh. Hell. No."

I add a head bobble and a triple click of my fingers to emphasise my point. Maisy laughs again, and I smile. I love to make people smile and laugh. It makes me feel like I'm doing something right for once.

We continue to giggle together as we walk to the reapings. We wait in line to sign in, but when we do, my finger gets pricked unnaturally hard.

"Hey! Watch it!" I snap at the female Peacekeeper. "Don't prick me so hard!"

The Peacekeeper remains silent, and I walk to the fifteen year old section, cursing under my breath. _Stupid woman_…

I wait patiently as the usual film is shown to us, and the unnaturally quiet escort takes the name out of the girls reaping ball. I actually start feeling really nervous, as if there is something I am missing. I've done this before and I've never been reaped, so I'll be OK, right? Sheesh, I need to calm down.

"Rachelle McKenzie."

As my name is called, I feel the colour drain from my face. What? Why me? I'm useless to use as your stupid pawn in your games. I can't even use a weapon and now you want me just to walk in and die? Well, that's not happening, and they're going to have to deal with it. My mind works quickly. There's no escape from the Peacekeepers, so it looks like the Hunger Games is going to have to be a very lethal game of hide and seek.

Maisy's eyes are filled with tears as she stands next to me.

"No…" she says.

"Don't you dare volunteer," I tell her. "It'll be OK, alright? I'll see you in a bit,"

I clasp Maisy's hand and give her a small smile. "Stay strong for me." I say, but my voice wobbles a little. I walk down to the stage and up the steps. The escort looks at me, but says nothing. Maybe he doesn't like speaking. Or maybe he's just afraid of my sass.

The boy tribute is crying as he is dragged up, and I can tell that this guy is easily a bloodbath tribute, but I decide to try and calm him down anyway. I stare at the cameras in determination. I strike my sassy pose to show that I am prepared. I'm going to sass my way through the Hunger Games and come out on top.

Hey Mom, if you're up there watching me, I'll win for you OK? At least Kailie is safe this year. I still miss you after all this time, but I've been strong for you. And that is exactly what I'm going to keep on doing.

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><p><strong>So, there we have it. My Grandad has come back from Malta to visit the family, and he's given me a laptop with internet! This means (hopefully) faster or more efficiently placed updates. I've decided to update at least once every week, and I will tell you if I won't be able to meet that. I have recently however, been posting on the pattern of every 34 days. I must be so excited that I keep on telling myself to complete chapters and put them on here. **

**So, Franz! He's quite sweet really, a bit of a Mommy's boy if you ask me. How far do you think he's going to go in the arena? And the sassy Rachelle? Do you think she'll be able to pull off her attitude and use it to win? Or will she fall at the first hurdle?**

**Feel free to give me criticism or praise; I appreciate all opinions! I don't know about you, but I'm really enjoying this story and I'm motivated to write at the moment! **

**~ E.E.**


	5. District Four Reapings

**I'm back! Hope you all had a fabulous Valentines Day! As usual, I remain painfully single…Nah, who cares? My single friends and I decided to have a party, and we had lots of fun, so it was great! I hope all of you lovers out there had a great day, and all of you singles ate junk food and didn't feel guilty about it XD **

**My Spanish Oral exam went very well, so that is excellent news. **

**There are so many of you that I'll never get onto the story if I do shoutouts, so thank you to: GryffindorGirlOnFire, WendyHamlet, Danny Barefoot, EllipticDART, BamItsTyler, thederangedramblingsofme, HawkwardDolphin and anyone else who reviewed!**

**Sorry this has taken me so long, but still, here it is XD **

**Right, so District Four has some very interesting tributes. Thanks to 212 and WendyHamlet for submitting them! May I also add, please check out WendyHamlet's story "Underestimated". It is well written and exciting, and it follows Mags in her Hunger Games, and what she went through. Quality Writing! XD**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own the arena.**

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><p><span><strong>Taser Shock, District Four Male POV<strong>

I sit there with her in the boat as we float lazily in circles upon the gentle waves. Her smile, her oh-so-perfect smile makes my heart burn with longing. Her long honey blonde hair shimmers in the sunlight, shining like gold. I would pay millions for a strand of her shining locks. Those cerulean blue eyes hold magic within them that draws me to her. Even the sparkling waves around us cannot compete with the beauty of Mariel Tide, the girl I love. She is an angel, a being so radiant, that she is more blinding than the sun that beats down upon us. If only she was mine, if only she felt the same way.

But there lies the problem. I don't know if she likes me back, and…I'm a little scared to ask. Alright, stop laughing already. I'm a strong, confident guy who could kill anyone within seconds. I've been trained to go into the Hunger Games all of my life. Those are my two greatest hobbies: Mariel, and training. Killing will probably add to the list when I get into the arena. There is the second thing. Killing. For as long as I can remember, I have had problems keeping my sadistic side under control. It's like the devil is inside of me, controlling who I am, making me thirsty for bloodshed. And that happens whenever I find myself with a weapon in my hands. That is why I'm worried about Mariel. What if we were together and I lost control? What if I killed her? I would never forgive myself. What makes it worse is that Mariel knows that I have problems controlling my lust for blood. She finds it repulsive, but other than that, we're best friends. And isn't she a knockout. How I would love to kiss those plump red lips, and stroke her sun-kissed skin and-

Stop! I don't need those fantasies now otherwise Mariel will be wondering what in Panem I'm thinking about. Mariel looks at me through her long eyelashes, making my heart beat uncontrollably. She takes my breath away, literally. I often have to remind myself to breathe. We have been out for a row in my boat, out on the ocean waves, and I've told her that I am volunteering for this year's Games. She was sad, but I told her that it wasn't my fault. The training academy has told me that I have to volunteer, or face the shame. Mariel doesn't understand. I have to do this as an honour to both my District and my Mom. We don't talk about Mom though. She was lost in a storm and we haven't seen her for a few years, so Dad says she's dead. I got over it though, hiding my emotions like careers must do. I don't need people thinking I'm weak.

To be honest, my only real weak spot now is Mariel. If she was reaped, I don't know what I'd do. How could I protect her at the same time as killing everyone off, so that she could go home? The careers would surely have her.

I guess that being in District Four has benefits though, because she'd be taken straight into the career group with me, so she'll be fine, right?

We are silent as we row around a headland to the shore. I'm not a big talker, partly because I'm so transfixed by how beautiful she is. We still make small talk though, and only through that can I find my tongue. Mariel does most of the talking though. She talks about her father and siblings, and you can just _feel _the love for her family rolling off of her. It makes you want to love them too. It makes you feel safe.

As we approach the docks, I take one last look at our reflection in the water. Only in this reflection are we a couple. Only there are we together, holding hands in love and harmony. If only that could happen…

We get out of the boat and I tie the boat to the dock. We walk up the road fairly quietly. Mariel has been quiet since I told her about my new role in the Hunger Games, but as we part ways, she gives me a hug. I can smell the sweet scent of her hair as she embraces me, standing up on her tiptoes. I want to tell her right then, but I know I can't. Not yet. When I win I will come back to her.

"I'm going to miss you," she says.

"I know," I tell her. "But I'll be right back before you know it."

We break the embrace.

"I'll see you there." Mariel says, leaving her hand on my arm.

I nod in reply before we part ways. I sigh, and walk into our house. It's medium sized and on a cliff. From the windows, you can look out over the open water as the sun turns the sea into an expanse of glowing spots that look like diamonds. The view is breathtaking.

I walk in through the front door, rushing up to my room. Dad's not in because he'll be out fishing, but hopefully he'll make it back in time for the reaping. He's fine with me volunteering, and he has been encouraging me to train hard ever since he found out.

I run up to my sea green bedroom, deciding to wear a green dress shirt and black trousers with polished shoes. I check my black hair and green eyes in the mirror; our family wasn't originally from here, explaining my looks. We actually use to reside in District Nine before Mom wanted to move nearer to the sea. I came to District Four when I was six. Mom was lost to the sea a couple of years after that. I'm fine with how I look, so I walk out of the house and down the road to the square. I won't bother with lunch today, there'll be food on the train. Most of the people are there already, but I wait for Mariel to arrive. She looks so stunning in her black skirt and white blouse, that I have to remember to shut my mouth before she sees me gaping at her. I open my arms to her as she runs to me, embracing her as she sighs into my chest.

"You'll be alright," I assure her, as I feel her body shaking slightly in nervousness. For both of us, it is our last year. I am going to volunteer, and she is going to watch, praying for my return with every minute. And I am going to do it for her.

"Yeah," she says, still looking worried. "I'll be fine."

I give her a smile, letting her return her dazzling one back to me. We sign in and separate, going to our own respective areas.

The escort walks up to the stage, swaying her hips and wearing nothing but a two-piece swimming costume and flip-flops. Most of the eighteen year olds around me wolf whistle, but I only have eyes for Mariel. She meets my gaze and holds it as the film plays. We've seen it enough times anyway. I nod, and she smiles faintly. The escort walks up to the reaping bowl and plucks out a slip, walking over to the microphone.

"Mariel Tide."

My blood runs cold as I stare at Mariel as she ascends the stage, looking over to me before locking eyes with her family. There is no way she is going alone into the arena.

"I VOLUNTEER!" I shout, jogging up to the smiling escort. I only stare at Mariel as I mutter my name. If only she was safe and well, but I knew now that I had to protect her. No matter what it was going to take, Mariel was coming home.

**Mariel Tide, District Four Female POV**

I walk back to my house with mixed emotions. Today is the day that Taser is leaving me to go into the Hunger Games. He told me he was going to volunteer, and at his words my heart shattered. He is so confident that he is going to win, but can he? He is strong, smart, hot…I mentally scold myself. How can I fall in love with a boy who is so sadistic? He has the biggest heart, but half of it is filled with darkness and the desire to kill. I shouldn't feel like this towards him, but his smile, his hugs, his eyes, oh don't get me started on his eyes. The sea green depths of those shining orbs make my heart flutter as they stare at me. His rich voice sends shivers of delight down my spine. He doesn't talk much, but he is my best and only friend, and one of the few people I can trust. That is why worry I about him. He's trained for the Games for a long time, but can he still pull it off? Can he still escape from the arena with his life? And worse still, if he wins will I lose him to the horrors he has witnessed? I don't want to lose him.

Taser took me out for a row in the ocean today, where he told me about what he was going to do. I wasn't happy but I didn't want him to face the shame of failure, so I'm going to let him go. But that's not going to stop me from wishing for his safe return.

I arrive home and hear the chattering of my brothers and sister. They rush down the stairs crying out my name, excited to see me. Aaron and Brody come first, my ten year old twin brothers, and six year old Anabelle fails to keep up as she skips down the stairs. They all attack me with a big hug and we all end up on the floor, giggling.

"Mariel! Mariel!" Anabelle chants.

I laugh.

"Hello," I smile, helping Anabelle up. "Where's Dad?"

"He's on the ship at the moment." says Aaron. I have known the twins long enough to tell them apart by now. I was surprised that I didn't meet Dad down at the docks, so I guess I must have missed him.

"OK," I reply. "Shall we get ready then?"

Anabelle nods, wearing a wide smile upon her face. As the boys rush up the stairs to get ready, I walk with Anabelle to her room to pick out a dress. As she ponders over which dress to choose, I walk over to the window of her room, breathing in the soothing scent of the sea that is coming in through the window. I look down at the window sill to see Anabelle's pictures lined up neatly. One of them contains my Mom, smiling with Dad and hugging him. The photo brings tears to my eyes. I took this a year before Anabelle was born. It had been a sunny day and I had snapped a picture of them when they hadn't noticed. Afterwards, they both agreed that it looked good and they got it processed for me. I used to have it in my room before Anabelle was born. I gave it to her so that she could see what Mom looked like. She had died giving birth to Anabelle, so she had never seen her before. I hold the photo to my heart as a tear slips out. I wipe it away quickly and I blink back the tears. I must stay strong for Anabelle, Aaron and Brody. I am the mother of the family now.

"I like this one." Anabelle declares, holding out an ocean blue dress in front of her. I help her put it on, and I do her hair for her, putting a small blue bow in it. I stand back to look at her.

"You look beautiful," I tell her.

"You're prettier." she replies, and she runs off to bother Aaron and Brody.

I walk to my room and have a shower, washing away the feelings of sadness at the loss of Mom. I'll admit that I'm a bit nervous for the reapings, but it comforts me to know that this is my last year, and that next year I won't have to worry about any of us getting reaped. I choose a white blouse and a black skirt to wear for this year, and I check on Aaron, Brody and Anabelle who are shouting and laughing in the boys' room. I walk down the stairs and make some sandwiches for them.

"Lunch is ready!" I call to them, and the thundering footsteps I hear tells me that my shout has been heard. Aaron and Brody speed down the steps, wearing smart white shirts and black trousers. Anabelle flies down the stairs shortly afterwards, and they all munch on their sandwiches. Dad then walks in, smelling of salt and fish.

"Daddy!" Anabelle shouts, and she hops off of her chair to hug him.

"Hello Princess." he replies, and embraces her, along with Aaron and Brody who have finished their sandwiches in a matter or minutes. I pick up the plates and plonk them into the sink as Dad comes over to me.

"Hi Dad," I say, and I hug him around the middle. "How was the ship today?"

Dad worked as a ship captain, and he often left the twins and Anabelle for me to look after.

"Not bad," he answers. "But shouldn't you be at the reapings by now?"

I nod.

"I'm about to leave," I say.

"Good luck my girl," he says, kissing my forehead. "We'll be there as soon as I've changed out of these clothes,"  
>"OK," I answer. "Bye!"<p>

I wave and kiss Anabelle, Aaron and Brody, the latter two wiping the kiss off of their faces in mock disgust. I laugh as I leave the house, running to the reapings. I don't want to be late.

There he is waiting for me, his black hair and green eyes smiling at me as I run into his arms. My heart is thudding, partly because of the running and my nervousness, but also because of our close proximity. I don't know how I'm going to deal with his absence for so long. I'm going to miss him so much. I know that I'm going to be worrying about him continuously over the coming days.

"You'll be alright," he tells me, and I relax into his chest. _I'll be OK_ I reassure myself. Taser will go into the Games and then he'll win and everyone will be happy.

"Yeah," I reply. "I'll be fine."

We sign in and go our separate ways. I see my family standing at the side of my section, watching the reapings. I turn to meet the staring eyes of Taser, and he nods. I flash him a nervous smile as the escort steps up to the stage and declares that the girl is about to be reaped.

She reaches in and grabs a slip of paper.

"Mariel Tide."

Shock rains down on me as I walk up to the stage, taking in the surprised look on Taser's face. I look over to my family, where Dad's face resembles one of pure horror. Aaron and Brody are crying silently. Only Anabelle remains serious, her brow slightly furrowed as she tries to understand what is going on. I feel so protective of her. What if I died in these Games? Then who would look after my family? How would they do without me? Aaron, Brody and Anabelle will be left alone when Dad goes to work, and they are dependent on me to do things for them. I feel a surge of protectiveness for my family. I needed to win to save them. They needed me more than anything in the world. I was practically a mother to Anabelle, and a role model for the twins.

I don't want Taser to volunteer, but he does anyway, staring at me in shock as he mutters his name to the skimpily dressed escort. I look into his eyes and see determination and devotion in there. Does he love me?

His eyes are begging for this not to be real, pleading for me to be spared, but I won't be. I know that he's going to do whatever he can to protect me in the arena, but will he be able to? Surely he will lose control when he has those weapons in his hands? As I look into his wonderful green eyes, I can't help but wonder if Taser will be the one to kill me; if he will be the one to spill my blood. I shake hands with Taser, diverting my gaze from the man who might just be the one to kill me in the future.

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><p><strong>Ta-Dah! Finished those reapings, so now it is on to District 5.<strong>

**So, what do you think of the relationship between Taser and Mariel? Do you think that it could bloom into something more? Do you reckon that Taser may have trouble with his love for murder? And will Mariel die by his hand? Well, you'll have to wait and see!  
>I hope that I portrayed the characters well, and that you're enjoying the story! I'm deciding on doing all of the reapings, but then switching views during train journeys, chariot rides, training days and interviews. <strong>

**I'll update soon!**

**~ E.E. **


	6. District Five Reapings

**I am back again with another update. We are away from the careers for now, and we have arrived at District Five. Again, some interesting tributes (This is becoming my catchphrase now XD), but will they survive the trials ahead of them?**

**WendyHamlet: I'm happy that you liked my portrayal of Mariel. You are now my most loyal reviewer, so thank you very much! **

**thelastofdavid: Thank you! A power couple indeed…**

**212: I'm glad you liked how I wrote him.**

**Thank you very much to Kaitaru Stark-Laufeyson and Typically for submitting the District Five tributes. Also, if anyone is interested in joining a 24 Author Collaboration, then you can go to the link on my profile. We're in need of authors, and you can improve on your writing skills, as well as making a few new friends at the same time! It's called "Assembling The Pieces" if you want to search it. (It's a Forum in case you wanted to know) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way shape or form. I only own the arena.**

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><p><span><strong>Shaune Greyson, District Five Male POV<strong>

I lift up the thick metal bar onto my shoulder with ease, and carry it over to the power plant. We're repairing an old one – well the one my mother shut down two years ago. The power plant's exterior is a snow white, but it is merely an eyesore against the blue sky. It is nothing but a hunk of metal that is a constant reminder of my mother's foolish mistake. She is the reason why I have no friends. Her mistake is why the rest of the District shuns our family. And all because of one thing. Rebellion.

When I was sixteen, my mother decided to lead a revolution. She was angry at how we were treated, and the long working hours that the people in our District were given. So, she took over one of the power plants and shut it down. She was going to get the other plants too, but she was caught by the Peacekeepers. 17 people were killed that day because of her. I can remember her in the town square as she sat in a chair. She had been sentenced to death for starting an uprising. The Peacekeepers chained her to the chair and turned on the power. My mothers screams rang out over the square as her body thrashed and jolted in agony. Her pale skin turned an angry red and began to char. Her ginger ringlets bounced around her face as it contorted in indescribable pain. Her eyes rolled back into her head until you could only see the whites. Finally, she went still, twitching as the Peacekeepers turned the power off. I was silent. I didn't cry or laugh or get angry. I just…stood there, taking in the sight of my mother's dead body with my own two eyes. Father and Jonathan had cried at the time of her death. My mother's death hit them both hard. At first, Jonathan had nightmares about how she died. Then Father became abusive. He hit Jonathan, telling him that it was his fault as to the reason why Mother is dead. He still does it now. I usually intercept Father's fists to take the brunt of his attacks to protect Jonathan. He hasn't done anything to deserve those blows, so instead I take them for him. To make matters worse, Father is so furious over my mother's death that he was fired from his job at the bakery, and now I am the only source of income in the family. I work long hours, and I work hard, so we usually have just about enough food. That hasn't stopped me from taking tesserae though. We need it.

I lay down the metal bar and walk back into the musty warehouse to get another one. My job is fairly easy, and I enjoy it. There's lots of lifting involved, so I have strong arms and a firm back. If anyone needs any lifting done, I'm your man. Except…nobody ever does anymore. I used to lift everything for everyone around the District, but due to my mother's actions, I barely get a glance from people who pass me in the street nowadays. They blame our family, which is fair enough, but being shunned really sucks. You can't talk to anyone. You can't make friends. You're lonely. Father makes it worse, but at least I have Jonathan. As long as I have him, I'll be fine.

Our work stops early today due to the reapings, and I'm covered in a light sheen of sweat as I walk back to our small house. It's a run down place, and infested with rats, but Father doesn't care. He just sits there and orders Jonathan and I around. He goes ballistic whenever I don't obey him. I just take his lectures and wait for him to calm down. I'm eighteen now. What can he do to boss me around?

I walk in through the door, and dump my pay on the table. Father will probably use half of it anyway. I walk up the rotting and creaky stairs, and I hear whimpering coming from Jonathan's bedroom. Oh no, not again! Father's hit him hasn't he?

I open up the door to see my younger thirteen year old brother curled up on his lumpy bed, sniffling. On the side of his face is a fist shaped black bruise that blooms across his cheek. His blonde hair is greasy and his green eyes are alight with terror.

"S-Shaune?" he whimpers.

"I'm here." I tell him, and I walk into the room and sit on his bed. He snuggles into my side like a cat and I give him a hug, rubbing his back to soothe him. I inspect the large bruise, but Jonathan yelps as soon as my fingers brush the skin. I look at him sadly before going into the corner of the room where there is a small bucket of icy cold water. I dip in a smelly cloth and soak it in the liquid before wringing it out. I brush it gently across Jonathan's cheek, and he jumps a little at the coldness of the cloth as well as the pressure of the contact.

"Is it just the one?" I ask.

"Yes." answers Jonathan. "He didn't get me anywhere else, but he broke one of the chairs and threw it out of the window."

I nod, sighing in exasperation. That's another thing broken.

"It's time to get ready," I remind him, and Jonathan nods, getting up from the bed and looking in the small chest that holds what little clothes he has. He brings out a green t-shirt and some tattered old jeans. They look decent enough. A little ripped here and there, but that's the best we've got at the moment. I leave Jonathan to get ready and I go into my own room, flipping open the chest holding my own clothes. I find my yearly reaping outfit; a yellow dress shirt and black trousers. They're the only smart clothes I have, but at least they look respectable. I use some of the cold water in my room to rub myself down, and I catch my reflection staring back at me. My face looks angry, and for a good reason too. Father hit Jonathan again, and I'll never forgive myself for not being there to protect him – again. My white hair frames my face and it is a little greasy. Yes, you heard me correctly. I have white hair. Father told me that it was as a result of a mutation where my hair colouring genes were not formed properly. My blue eyes shine like ice, yet they are filled with the fiery restlessness of my fury at Father's actions. I calm myself down by washing my face, and I put on my reaping clothes. I meet Jonathan outside my room, and we troop downstairs.

"Dad, are you coming to the reapings?" Jonathan asks tentatively.

My father grumbles restlessly.

"I don't give a damn about whether you die or not." he snaps. The heat rushes from my stomach up to my throat, my temper re-awakens itself as I stride over to my father and pick him up by the scruff of the neck. I've grown so strong that I can lift him up with one arm. Father struggles, but I don't let go. I've had enough of his behaviour. Why can't he just go back to how he used to be?

"Listen here," I tell him stiffly, trying to stop my fury from boiling over. "We're all you've got. When we're gone, you'll have no one. Remember that, and maybe you'll care."

I push him roughly to the floor and spit at him in disgust. My once wonderful Father has turned into this…thing. I stomp out of the house, dragging Jonathan along with me, who is watching me in awe.

"I've never heard you say so much," he says, staring at me in shock. That's probably true. I'm quite a quiet person, and I tend to keep to myself, so people think I'm rather reserved. They're right, but I don't care. Jonathan is the only thing I care about right now. If things go on like this, then I might consider running away. Jonathan needs a better father than he already has, and I'm sure that I could do a better job than Father is right now.

We arrive at the reaping and sign in. Jonathan hisses in pain when his finger is pricked, but I walk him to the thirteen-year-old section before I go to the eighteen year old section at the back. As I arrive, several boys back away from me, in both disgust and fear. I guess that the anger is still showing in my face.

I roll my eyes as the escort rolls on in roller-skates, addressing us in a cheery tone as she pulls up her stripy socks.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" she yells, and most of us cover our ears to avoid becoming deaf.

After the film, she rolls over to the girls reaping bowl and takes a slip.

"Florescent Neista!" she trills, delighted, and she claps wildly as a young girl walks up to the stage. She waves at the crowd, but stops mid-wave when nobody waves back. She stands on the stage. The escort then skids to a halt next to the boy's reaping ball.

"Jonathan Greyson!"

My breath catches in surprise as Jonathan starts to walk up. No, no, no, no, no! Jonathan can't go into the arena - he'll die. He's had no training and he'll be dead within the first thirty seconds. I barge my through the other boys my age.

"Jonathan!" I shout. "I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER!"

My chest is rising and falling rapidly as I speed up to the stage. Jonathan, who has tears running down his cheeks, hugs me tightly.

I look Jonathan in the eye, silently telling him to be strong for me. Jonathan responds by hugging me tighter, and he runs down the stage crying, into the arms of my Father, who appears to be deathly pale. He looks…angry? I hope that he doesn't take it out on Jonathan. I hope he realises how his only source of income is now about to go into the Games. We're all he has, and he's all we've got. I just hope he comes to terms with that before Jonathan gets hurt. I have to make it back, for both of them. When the escort asks me my name, I don't speak. She doesn't deserve to know. She's with the Capitol, and the Capitol tried to take Jonathan's life. And now they're trying to take mine. Someone must have muttered my name, because I am taken off of the stage after I clasp the girl tributes' tiny hand.

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><p><span><strong>Florescent Neista, District Five Female POV<strong>

We are in a meadow, talking happily. Half the girls are worried about the reaping day today, but I don't see why they're worrying. What's so bad about the reaping bowl? I'm fourteen, and I've been to two reapings now. Today will be my third. I honestly don't understand why everyone gets so upset when the funky lady opens the little piece of paper. She seems so happy when she reads it, so wherever the people go, it must be a nice place to be. Everyone talks about this thing called the 'Hunger Games', and they get all worried about it! It's not like it's a matter of life or death. I do often wonder what the Hunger Games actually is. I guess it has something to do with food games, and that sounds fun. Maybe people have to win games to get food prizes or something.

Carmen Taps, one of my friends, is talking animatedly about this guy that she saw near the building site. She's the prettiest girl in our group, with blue eyes and short blonde hair, and she's always talking about guys.

"Did you see him?" she says. "He had the biggest muscles ever, with white hair and sexiest blue eyes!"

Another girl grimaces.

"Ew," she says. "White hair? What is he, an old man?"

"I heard he was like, eighteen or something," Carmen says dreamily. "Maybe he'll take me away and we'll live happily ever after!"

"Wait, isn't he that guy whose Mommy started the rebellion and was electrocuted in public?" a third girl pipes up.

Some of her words spark my interest.

"What does electrocuted mean?" I ask, interested.

"Never mind." the girl mutters, and waves her hand as if to brush away my question.

"Well either way, he's hot," says Carmen, picking up a bead and threading it onto one of her bracelets.

"He's really quiet though, and he doesn't speak to anyone," a fourth girl mentions.

"It doesn't matter," Carmen declares. "I like it when they're mysterious."

The group giggles and I laugh with them. We can see a few people walking down the road to the town square.

"Time to go!" Carmen says, and we all laugh and cheer.

I skip down the road to my house, and I fly through the door, seeing Mommy in the kitchen.

"Hi Mommy!" I say cheerily.

"Hello dear," she says kindly as she wipes down the sides of our kitchen with a cloth. "Where have you been?"

I walk around the table and hop onto the seat at the head of it.

"We were talking about a boy who had a Mommy who started a rebellion and got electrocuted," I tell her. "I asked them what electrocution means, but they didn't tell me. Mommy, do you know what electrocution means?"

"No, I don't," Mommy replies smoothly, brushing her reddish hair out of her green eyes. "But I'm sure it doesn't matter that much,"

I shrug.

"Nope," I say. "It doesn't."

"Those girls are a bad influence on you…" mutters Mommy, but I don't really understand what a 'bad influence' is, so I just ignore her comment. I stare at my Mommy's skinny frame as she scrubs the counter. Although Mommy and Daddy do their best to hide it, I know that we don't have that much food at home. We can't afford a lot of it, but Mommy and Daddy always try to make me eat more than them. I refuse, because I feel bad about it. It's not fair for me to have all the food, so I eat small portions so we have more to go around. I don't look like Mommy, with my auburn hair and small face. I have a small trail of freckles across my nose, that Mommy doesn't have too.

At this point, Daddy comes down the stairs.

"Daddy!" I cry and I jump into his arms, hugging him around the neck. Daddy is really tall, and his head almost touches the ceiling! His hair is a chocolaty-brown, and it's always really shiny and slippery to the touch. Mommy calls his hair greasy, but I don't really know what that means.

"Are you ready Daddy?" I ask him. "It's time to go to the reapings! It's gonna be fun!"

Daddy's eyes flicker towards Mommy for a second, but then his face breaks into a smile.

"I need to get dressed," he tells me. "Why don't you run along and see Rosie? I'll see you at the reapings,"

"OK!" I say, and both of them kiss me on the head before letting me go. I hum as butterflies fly through the air above me, and tulips dance in the slow beat of the light breeze. I arrive at Rosie's house just as she walks out of the door.

Rosie Shattiere has been one of my best friends for a while now. She has milky chocolate skin, with caramel eyes and brown hair, and she's the same age as me. I didn't see her in the meadow today, but she usually is, chatting away with the rest of us.

"Hi Florescent," Rosie says. "How are you? Is everything OK?"

"Yep!" I say. "Everything is just fine!"

I take her by the hand, and we walk to the town square. We sign in, and the lady in a suit pricks my finger, which hurts. Rosie walks with me to the fourteen year old section and we stand there. I ignore the film, because it's boring and always has been, instead, focusing on the clear ball with all the little slips inside. I don't understand why it's there. Why do people get so scared when their name is picked out of the bowl? I see Carmen in the fifteen-year-old section behind me, and I wave. She only shakes her head in reply. The film finishes and a woman slides around in roller-skates across the stage. She looks really happy.

"Girls first!" she says, and she makes her way over to the reaping bowl. I stand next to Rosie, squeezing her hand nervously as the woman walked up to the bowl that everyone seemed to be afraid of. I wanted to know why. Maybe Rosie could help me.

"Rosie," I whispered. "What's so bad about that bowl?"

"Shhh, now's not the time"

I nod and look back up to the stage where the crazy looking woman opens up a little piece of paper and reads something out.

"Florescent Neista!"

I look up at Rosie, who was staring at me, trying to say something through her shock. I raised my eyebrows at her expression.

"What's wrong?" I say. "Why did she say my name?"

I hear crying and I look over to see Carmen wiping her eyes with a tissue.

"Rosie…?" I ask curiously, wanting to know why everyone was so upset and scared for me. Rosie takes a firm hold on my hand.

"Good luck," she tells me. "Ask the boy what's going on when you get to the train. Just…just go to the stage."

I nod nervously, and the crowd parts for me, watching with wide eyes as I hop up the steps of the stage, humming. My eyes look over all of them. Why do they look so scared and surprised? I waved a little, but I put my hand down when they started looking nervous. I don't like this, not at all. And I don't know why.

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><p><strong>So there are our District Five tributes. What do you think of Shaune's father and his abusive personality? How do you think Shaune is going to do in the arena? And the innocent Florescent? How do you think she is going to react to the fact that she'll have to kill to survive?<strong>

**Please review! Reviews help me to know if there are any mistakes that I am making, and they increase the chances of your favourite tributes living for longer!**

**The more devoted you are to your tribute (if you're someone who submitted) or a tribute you like (submitters and readers alike), then the higher the chance of them surviving for longer in the arena.**

**I wish you all goodnight!**

**~ E.E.**


	7. District Six Reapings

**Hello again! Thank Goodness I've managed to update…**

**With all of the work I've had to do, I'm surprised that my brain has not turned to mush! I apologise for the lateness of this update. School keeps me way too busy…**

**I also received a head injury, so that has slowed me down too. I had to have my head glued and it's been annoying me.**

**Thank you to aprilgirl01, OceaneBreeze13, BamItsTyler, WendyHamlet, Mayasha-chan, EllipticDART, TheGlitchOnFire, 212, and mightya for the reviews. I can see how some of you were laughing at Florescent…XD**

**Also thank you to everyone who has favourited and followed, including mightya and YoungAssassin, the new readers to the story. **

**I will say again, that FireflyLlama is doing a 24 Author Collaboration, and we are in desperate need of authors! Please follow the link on my profile to the forum, or just PM me if you want to ask any questions before you check it out.**

**Thanks to The Koala Of Doom and 212 for submitting the District 6 tributes!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own the arena and my ridiculously long authors note.**

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><p><span><strong>Sedan Bristol, District Six POV<strong>

I bathe in the warm darkness of my sleep, desperately clinging on to the fluttering fabrics of my dream. It is a memory – a faint one at that. I vaguely remember that it had something to do with a sword in my hand, but I can't remember much else. The dream fades fast in my mind, and even though I try to empty out my brain finding the memory, it still evades me. Well, that's just peachy isn't it?

I can feel myself waking up as I take in the silence of my bedroom. If I listen hard enough, I can hear the voices of my twin and older sister talking to each other downstairs. I don't want to open my eyes. Not even by a crack. I don't want to let a single ray of light past my heavy eyelids. Why? Because it's the _best_ day of the year. Reaping day. I am so excited, that I'm leaping out of my bed in my enthusiasm.

I push back the covers and stretch. Mom always lets me sleep in on reaping day. She knows how I love the Hunger Games.

My limbs managed to animate themselves as I clamber out of bed. I check myself in the mirror. Green eyes. Blond hair. Looking wide awake.

I decide to have a wash in preparation for the reapings. Everyone is always so excited about The Hunger Games, and I'm totally looking forward to having the chance to volunteer. Not.

I get dry, and I choose my clothes for the day; a grey shirt with matching trousers. I'm still trying to cling onto the memory in my head, but I give up. I scratch one of my muscular shoulders, and troop downstairs. I walk into the kitchen, and my lovely sisters stop speaking and give me piercing glares. My older sister is nineteen, and my twin and I are seventeen. They never speak to me though. They either act as if I'm some kind of deadly disease, or they completely blank me.

Mom's out working in the hovercraft factory today. They'll be stopping early for the reapings, but I'll be well on my way by the time she gets back. I get some toast, and walk out of the door. I check the clock in our house, and I see that I still have half an hour. But of course, who would want to go to the reapings half an hour early when they have such a kind and welcoming family back at home?

Some people pass me on the streets, going about their daily business, and giving me small waves and worried smiles. I simply nod in reply, or return the high fives of my friends that are going off to do things before the reaping starts. I have lots of friends, but none of them are really very close to me.

I stroll down the road and finish off my breakfast. I don't really have anything to do at the moment, so I decide to go and have lots of fun at the reapings. Yay! The Hunger Games! I love it when all of the tributes are killing each other, because they want to go home to their families and friends. It's just _so_ entertaining to watch. I am literally glued to the screen.

I sign in and barely wince as my blood is taken ever so gently from my fingertip. There's practically nobody here, but I walk to the seventeen year old section anyway. Eventually, people start filing in. I end up high fiving a few more people. Y'know, I'm so hyped up for the Games that I could stay here all day. I am _so_ excited; you can just see it in my face. I totally want to be here.

I zone out through the escorts captivating and inspiring speech, and I wait for him to pick the girls from the reaping ball. He shuffles over looking like he totally wants to be here, and reads out the name of a young girl who skips up the steps and has a dreamy look on her face. Well, she's living long in the arena, isn't she? Some people around me snigger as if answering my thoughts, but I don't do anything. The escort plucks out a slip.

"Sedan Bristol." he says, and I realise that I've been called.

I don't feel anything. I'm not sad or angry with the Capitol for letting me get reaped. I just walk up to the stage. Clouds of dust rise and fall as my feet take long strides towards the stage, thumping on the ground in time with my beating heart. I don't care. People look at me as I pass them, their eyes watching me like hundreds of hawks. Some look at me in pity, shock or sadness, but I know my family won't care. They're probably smiling. Even the Peacekeepers eyes seem to follow me as I mount the stage. Maybe they can feel my enthusiasm for the oh-so-wonderful Games, leaking from the thousands of pores in my skin. I look out over the expanse of the crowd, uncaring. I don't even feel sorry for the girl, as she hums away, off with the fairies as they say. She looks as if she wouldn't hurt a fly, and she's so small that if I hugged her, then she'd probably turn into a human pancake.

The escort asks us to shake hands, and I tower over both of them as I take the girls smaller hand in my own and shake it. Her hand is so small that my big hand envelops hers completely. She smiles up at me, but I just stare back emotionlessly. What was the point in getting attached to a weak tribute like this girl, when she would most likely die in the first couple of minutes anyway? Well, all the other tributes are going to be so easy to beat, so this one should be no different. I can't wait for the Games. I am _so _looking forward to spilling the blood of innocent children.

_Happy Hunger Games! _I tell myself, and we are escorted off of the stage.

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><p><span><strong>Zest Churna, District Six POV<strong>

I wake up to feel sunlight bursting through the windows. Today is reaping day, but I don't care! I won't be picked. I practically leap out of bed.

"Good Morning District Six!" I holler, and I skip over to my window, drawing back the white curtains and opening it. The smell of the district wafts in through my window. Seen as we're the transportation District, the air from the outside doesn't smell too great. Well, at least it isn't so smelly that we can barely breathe. I'd rather the air be like this than have it any worse. I skip around, tidying up my room for a couple of hours and drawing lots of wonderful pictures with my blunt pencil. Yeah, it's blunt, but at least I have one! I draw lots of pictures; ones of flowers, and green meadows, the seaside where the sun dances lazily off of the water…

I am happy with the way I am and how my life runs. The Capitol has never affected me in any way, nor have we had any hardship, seen as we're a rich family in District Six. We have plenty of food, and although we have trouble with luxuries such as paint, paper and pencils, we're better off compared to the poor people in the District. They often beg me for money, or try to sell me their bodies, but I'm only young, and Dad said I wasn't old enough yet. Thirteen-year-old girls needed to grow up a little before finding themselves a man. But I didn't want a man. I wanted to fly high in the air and be free. I wanted to have lots of fun, and to be rich and to be happy and have plenty of food and…well, that's about it. I want to be free, like the birds are to the sky. All they have to do is just fly over the fences to freedom. If only I could have that too. I'd love to escape, but I'd easily get caught. Oh well. At least I'm safe and warm here at home.

Home is quite a cosy place for me. Some children don't have it like I have, where families beat or shun their kids. Well, at least they haven't been beaten to death yet.

I always try my very best to think on the bright side of life. Why be all doom and gloom when you can be happy and let your problems run free? Smiling is better for you too – Mom said so, so it must be true. There are so many sad faces around at school, but I always try to brighten up everyone's day with a great big smile. I have lots of friends, but they probably think I'm too happy and enthusiastic because they tend to leave me alone. Well, at least I have friends. At least I'm liked. I don't want to be a loner. I see a few of them sometimes, with their faces downcast as they walk home in the pouring rain. They seem so melancholy and just downright upsetting. They should be happy that they're still alive and that they have family to go back to. Why wouldn't you be happy when you have all of this? You have life, and surely that's a good enough reason to be happy?

People tend to worry about my attitude. They think I'm ditzy, but really, I'm just a Miss Bright Side. Everyone worries too much, and there has to be someone to lighten up your day. A smile can mean a lot to someone – especially to those leering old men when I flash them one of my most radiant smiles. They give me toothless replies as they reach out to me. I can't stop their poverty, but at least I can get them to smile. Aren't they so lovely? Yet, as soon as I leave, their poor faces drop down into wrinkled lines that have been carved into their faces over the years of their existence. My heart often feels heavy when I see them sad, but I always look on the bright side. I mean, at least they're still alive. That's great!

Mom has left me a note on the table to make my own way to reaping, because she has to take Baby Prentice to the doctors to treat his cough. Lucky we can afford that too.

I decide to dress in a silver tutu with a green top, as well as luminous yellow leg warmers and orange flip-flops. I'm not great with fashion, but it doesn't bother me. Why should I dress up when I'm not getting picked anyway? I feel sorry for those who are reaped, because they always die in horrible and painful ways. But it doesn't worry me, because they're all in a better place now. Suffering in the arena can only give people a better something to look forward to at the end. You either get lots of money, or you go to heaven. Simple.

I check myself out in the mirror, not bothering with my blonde hair, which is slightly dishevelled from being in bed. My brown eyes look stunning, and I shrug at my unfashionable appearance. I could be in a clown suit, and that would be horrible. I shudder, and set my thoughts on a lighter topic. Food.

I can never get enough of food. We have plenty of it in our house, but I always want it. I mean I'm not fat or chubby, but I'm always hungry. Mom said it's because of my metabolism, and that seems to make sense. Well, at least I'm not fat.

I walk out of the house and down to reapings, letting the white suited people prick my finger. It hurts, but I'd rather that than something worse. I don't bother looking at the escort as he goes through his yearly speech. It's boring, but it's better than listening to my history teacher for half an hour.

"Zest Churna," the escort calls, and I realise that I've been reaped. I sigh, but I skip through the crowd and up to the stage. At least I still have a chance to come home. And it's not like someone would hurt a sweet little girl like me would they?

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><p><strong>There are your District Six tributes - half way through the reapings now!<strong>

**Oh my goodness. Zest was a killer to write. She's rather similar to Florescent in a few ways. How do you think she will do? As for Sedan, his family shun him, and he's just been reaped to fight to the death. How do you think he's going to fare in the Games? What do you think of our District Six tributes?**

**I've cast an eye out over all 24 of the tribute forms, and I have bloodbath tributes now. I read them all thoroughly, and I've made my decision. I've also been really serious about all of this. I actually have tables telling me about how many reviews each person has written, and how many good reviews about the characters there are. Yes, I know, what a weirdo XD **

**Bye for now! **

**~E.E.**


	8. District Seven Reapings

**Hi there, I'm back! I'm excited, because I am touring around universities to make the final adjustments and choices as to where I'm going to go. I just want to go already! But, I still have 7 weeks of school and exams to get through yet. Well, it never ends with the IB…**

**Thank you to Titanic X (Reviewed all 7 chapters, thanks so much!), lastofdavid, HawkwardDolphin, 212, BamItsTyler, EllipticDART and OceaneBreeze13 for reviewing! Also thank you to all of the favourites and follows! I'm glad that you're liking the story.**

**Alrighty then. Thank you to thelastofdavid and Hunger G94 for submitting the District Seven Tributes!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own the arena.**

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><p><strong><span>David Peterson, District Seven Male POV<span>**

The green grass ripples in the wind, as if a raindrop has fallen into a puddle of water. The ripple extends its reach, spanning the weed filled field, and sending the blades of grass into a restless display of movement. The battered ball lies in the ankle high grass. It is quite old and a little bit flat, and it sits there, waiting for me to kick it. I'm standing ten metres away, panting. That should be far enough for a good run up.

Ahead of me, between two trees, stands my best friend, Reid Blair. His black hair bobs up and down as he prepares himself for my penalty kick. As I judge the angle of where the ball will go, my other two friends - Mateo and Owen – stand at the sides, preparing to run in and intercept my shot. I run and kick the ball, watching with bated breath as it soars high into the air in a shallow curve, before flying past Reid's outstretched arms and bouncing through the gap in the trees.

"Goal!" I cheer, while Owen and Mateo curse at their failure. Reid simply picks himself up and smiles as he retrieves the ball. He checks his watch.

"Hey guys," he calls to us. "I'm going to go and get ready for the reapings. I'll meet you all in the square."

We all wave and say our goodbyes to him, and he runs off home.

"I've got to go too," says Owen.

"Yeah, same here," agrees Mateo.

"I'll meet you guys in the square as well then," I say. "Bye!"

I wave as we go our separate ways. I decide that it is time for me to get ready for the reapings as well, so I head home. Some of the kids on the street are also hurrying home as fast as they can. It seems that there are quite a few in a hurry this year.

As I walk briskly down the gravel streets, nobody talks to me. If anything, they all do their best to avoid me by walking on the other side of the street.

You see, my friends and I are outcasts. Because we're not cool or popular, people tend not to like us that much. We're seen as losers, weirdo's. We're not important to them. That's why we all decided to be friends so that we could create our own group. Now, we don't really mind if we are outcasts, because we have each other. After all, we're not really outcasts. We just like different things.

I see a pretty girl looking at me seductively from across the street, but I don't go over to her for a chat. I'm not confident enough really. I doubt I could say a word to her without stuttering. I'm surprised that she doesn't know that I'm an outcast. Or maybe she does, but she doesn't care. Some people are like that in our District. They don't judge you for who you are at all. Either way, I'm too shy to ask her why she's looking at me of all people.

I get home, and open the door. The kitchen is vacant, with it's cold floor and polished wooden surfaces. Several slices of white bread lie steaming on the side, with a sharp knife and spreading knife beside them. The metal reflects the sunlight from the window, and I blink several times at the piercing light that assaults my constricting irises.

"I'm home!" I shout to the silent house, and within seconds, movement can be heard from upstairs. I listen to the footsteps on the stairs and I can tell its Mom. She walks into the kitchen and envelops me in the warmth of her embrace, her black hair tickling my cheek as she does so. She smells like the bread from the side, and I realise that she must have brought it from the bakery not so long ago.

"I was going to steal it," she jokes as she notices where my eyes are looking. "But I decided to pay for it instead."

Mom is quite a rebellious character, despite her undying love for her husband and son. She likes to defy the Peacekeepers just that little bit, where she can annoy them, but not to the extent where she is punished for it. I like that part of Mom. She tends to add a bit of excitement to your day, and that's the best Mom that anyone can have in my opinion.

"I'm going to go and get ready Mom," I tell her, gesturing to my clothes that have been coated in a small layer of mud.

She shakes her head in mock disapproval.

"You really shouldn't do that to your clothes." she tells me, but smiles anyway as I laugh and troop upstairs. I walk into my room and have a wash, rubbing the mud from both my skin and my clothes the best I can. My reflection in the water reminds me of the red birthmark on my throat shaped like a strawberry. My green eyes – one smaller than the other – follow the scars on my olive skinned face. My light brown hair is short and is spiked up slightly at the front, and I run my hands through it, my thin frame hunched over as I bring handfuls of water over my head.

My room is a modest size, and the walls are covered in maps. I love to read maps. The fact that you can see the size of an area or understand how to get around that area can be highly beneficial. Using maps can get you around easily, so I keep them on my wall. There are lots of maps on my walls; some of Panem when it was called 'The Unites States of America', one that maps out the entire expanse of District Seven, and even one that maps out a strange icy area that apparently once existed before all of it melted into the sea. I remember reading many maps and factual books about the world before Panem. Everyone thought I was autistic because I was so quiet and so obsessed with the ream of paper at my fingertips. But in reality, I was just shy and not as outgoing as some of the other boys in my District.

On my desk is a wind up toy train that has been taken apart completely. My friends share the same passion as me when it comes to technology. We love to see how things work, and we often take things apart to see how they have been made. I'm planning on putting the train back together another time.

I dry myself and walk to the wardrobe. I pull on a dark grey t-shirt, with dark blue jeans and black basketball shoes. I'm ready for the reapings.

I go downstairs, and I can hear Dad's voice in the kitchen, talking to Mom about his work today at the paper-making factory he works at.

"Hey Dad," I say, as I walk in. Dad smiles at me, and nods his salt and pepper coloured hair in my direction.

"How are you doing?" he asks cheerfully. Work must have gone nicely for him.

"I'm OK." I say simply, returning Dad's smile. I don't talk much. That must have been part of the reason why everyone thought I was autistic. They must have thought that I didn't have the mental strength to express myself, but I can do that just fine. I generally choose not to speak very much. And it's not like I'm not mentally strong. I mean, I have a near photographic memory, and I can remember most of the plants that I've studied in a split second. If anything, my physical strength is not up to standard. I'm thin and lanky, with little muscle mass, so I wouldn't be able to beat someone to a pulp that easily. That reminds me of the Hunger Games. I don't know if I'll be able to heft a sword, but I know that I'm not bad with an axe.

Dad glanced at his watch.

"You better get going for the reapings, or you'll be late." Dad tells me. I nod in reply. This is my penultimate year in the reapings, seen as I'm seventeen now. I remember that I used to ask Mom or Dad to hold my hand as we walked to the reapings because I was scared of them. Now though, the reapings are a bit of a bore. Listening to the same film every year and waiting for way too long for two tributes to be chosen can become quite repetitive. I feel really sorry for the tributes of course, but there's nothing we can do to help them to survive, because the Capitol are in complete control.

Mom hands me a sandwich, and presses the warm, dry bread into my hands before kissing my head and wishing me good luck. I make my way to the reapings.

We don't live too far from the town square, but I still take my time to get there, weaving in and out of rundown houses and white palaces on my way to arrive at the reapings on time. Of course, I'm in no hurry, but I can't be late, can I?

Reid is the first to join me on my peaceful stroll down to the town centre. I mean, it's not like I'm frolicking through the flowers, but it's a relaxing silence. It makes a change from the whirr of the factories and the sounds of chopping axes.

We soon meet Mateo and Owen on our little walk, and we're all silent as we all reflect on the possibility of us being reaped. Earlier today, I wouldn't have given a thought in the world to the fact that I could be chosen like a lamb to the slaughter. But now that the reapings are merely minutes away, I feel jittery. I shouldn't now that I'm used to it, but I guess that it's just some kind of natural reaction of mine that spontaneously happens whenever the reapings come around.

We queue in the line, Owen rubbing his ginger hair - a nervous tick of his. Mateo seems to be still, but on the inside I know that he's worried too. Reid doesn't seem to be affected either, but he's managed to perfect the concealment of his emotions over the years in case he's reaped. If he is seen to be emotionless, then he won't be discarded as a bawling baby who will be dead within minutes of the Games.

We get our fingers pricked, and we gather near the edge of the seventeen year old section. As usual, several people move away from us, but others just don't seem to care, and stay where they are.

"Good Luck!" I whisper to Reid, Owen and Mateo, and they reply with something similar. I can almost hear my own heartbeat as a suited man walks onto the stage. The video is played, describing how Panem rose from the ashes and how we're punished for the faults of our ancestors. The video ends, and I sigh impatiently as the suited man walks regally to the girls reaping ball. His movements are precise and purposeful, one soft, barely audible step in front of the other. His fingers are manicured as they hover over the slips of paper in the bowl, as if deciding on one to take. It's almost as if it is predetermined for him to pick out that one slip that will bring a girls hopes and dreams crashing down around her.

"Karina Faust!" the man calls in a posh, rich accent.

A girl about my age steps up to the stage, the tears on her face flowing down her tanned cheeks as she mouths to a boy near me not to volunteer. The boy is shaking in either his anger towards the Capitol or his sadness from the sobs that rack his body. Either way, he's upset, but he stays put.

I realise that this girl was the girl who was staring at me seductively on the street earlier. I feel sorry for her. It's a shame that a pretty face like hers was most likely going to be ruined.

The suited man walks over to the boy's reaping bowl and pauses again, almost as if he is pausing for tension. He pulls out a slip and opens it.

"David Peterson!" he calls in his accent, and I stand there numbly for a second before walking up to the stage. I feel as if it is a Walk of Shame, as the other kids in our District watch me as I pass them. I don't look back. I don't make eye contact with anyone. Not even with Mom or Dad, because I know that I'll cry if I do. And crying won't help me where I'm going. I just need to keep my head down and get on with things. I mumble my name to the escort, and I wish that I had taken this more seriously. I could have trained, or readied myself for the blood that was to come. I'm no fighter, but I'm going to have to try anyway.

I'm going to have to train hard when I get to the Capitol. As hard as I can.

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><p><strong><span>Karina "Kari" Faust, District Seven Female POV<span>**

I watch the boy as he walks away from me on the street. He seems shy and distant, and almost looks as if he is going to talk to me before he scampers off. But that reminds me. I need to get ready too.

I speed through alleyways and zip around street corners before I come to my first destination: the house of the sweet shop owner. His shop looks so pretty that it's likely to be the richest shop in the District. And if it isn't, then it sure is the brightest.

A bright red painted door, with wide windows that display cases upon cases of sweets; some filled with golden coins that would melt in one's mouth, others filled with pear drops, or Devonshire fudge. There are rows of mint humbugs and bonbons, curtains of striped sticks of rock or hanging rectangles of fizzy, sugary sweetness. This shop is every child's dream. But I'm not here for the sweets.

I run across the road and down the side of the shop, clambering up on top of the brick wall, and walking swiftly along the top of it. The wall rises higher, and eventually I'm at least ten metres off the ground, and I hold my arms out to steady myself, as the man's back garden comes into view. It's a fairly neat garden, with green grass and a few flowers, but the main reason I'm here is for the tree at the end of his small stretch of nature. The apple tree.

The main problem with going on this small quest of mine, is that I am so high up that it's very easy for me to break something if I fall off. Still, I have to get those apples, because every little bit of food helps. I take out several knifes from my belt, and I sit down on the wall, narrowing my eyes and aiming at one of the apples in the tree. I do this all the time before I get my apples – I mean, it's not likely, but if I ever was reaped for the Hunger Games, at least I would be able to fight with throwing knives. I flick my wrist, sending the knives into the apples on the tree. One of them misses and lands at the bottom of the tree, but I'll get that in a minute. I listen out for the sweet shop man, but I hear nothing, so I continue along the wall until it curves around so it runs along side the tree. Here, a thick branch stretches out over the wall, it's brown bark criss-crossed with growing vines and creeping honeysuckle. The tree's green leaves looking almost as juicy and colourful as the apples themselves. I climb into the tree, but I go down to retrieve my fallen knife first before climbing back up again. I can climb pretty well really. After all, I was a lead climber for a while before Daniel told me to stop. Now I do lots of odd jobs to help us survive, and so does he. One of these little jobs just happens to be stealing from the sweet shop man's apple tree. And it _is _only a few apples. Surely he won't miss a few apples?

I always feel guilty for stealing from the man, but I have to survive, and my options are few. I climb up the tree, plucking apples off the branches, and filling satchel at my side. The satchel is pretty old, but it's all I have to use, so it's something I guess. I scurry up the tree like a squirrel, gracefully leaping along the wall until I step on a stone. Naturally, I cry out as I wobble, the bag of apples making me top heavy. I teeter for a few seconds, wobbling around like a scarecrow in the wind. I finally regain my balance, only for a door to slam loudly. I freeze in place like a statue as my heart pumps faster. Is that the man?

I wait for a few more seconds, before I decide that the coast is clear, before continuing along the wall and getting down from it. I travel for a little while before I reach the cabin that Daniel and I share. I've been living on my own for four years now, after I ran away from my Aunt Anya. I used to live with my Mom, but she died when I was eleven from lung cancer, so my aunt had to take care of me. I never knew who my Dad was. My Aunt couldn't cope with the loss of my Mom, and because I bear such a resemblance to Mom, she started to hit me. I ran away the same year, because I couldn't take it anymore.

That's when I met Daniel, who's Mom had also died. I soon found out that his Mom cared for my Mom when she was sick, and we kind of became friends after that. Daniel's sixteen – one year older than me – and he is a lot like the older brother I never had.

I stare at the log cabin in front of me, and I smile. Here is my home. I don't care how small it is, or the fact that we have barely enough food and water for both of us to live on, because here is better than anywhere else in the world.

I walk in, and empty the satchel of apples into the wooden bowl on the small creaky table.

"Hey," Daniel says from the other side of the room. "How is it out there?"

"It's alright," I reply. "Nobody saw me, as usual."

I gesture to the apples.

"I got seven, so we'll have to share the last one,"

Daniel nods.

"OK." he says.

He moves the bucket of water behind him a little to the left so that he can change his sitting position. He arranges the blankets of our "beds" into some kind of formation.

"Isabelle, came today," he tells me.

"Cool," I reply, dumping my satchel next to my collection of blankets. I reach into my pockets and pull out a few coins from today's labour, before putting them into the cracked bowl too.

Isabelle Oak was a close friend of my Mom's, and she's really nice. At first she didn't know that I'd run away from Aunt Anya, but when she found out, she tried to find me a job so that Daniel and I could be fed and watered. She kindly puts a portion of her earnings aside to pay for the little cabin we live in, and the stuff we have.

I now work in a paper-making factory, where the air quality is so bad that I feel as if I'm choking on it. The Doctor's thought that that was how Mom got lung cancer, but it's my only source of income, so it's that or nothing. I work long hours, and often I feel as if years of my life have passed when it's only been a day. I was released early for the reapings, so I've come back to get ready. I go into the bathroom at the back of the cabin to check that my appearance is respectable in the cracked mirror. My almond shaped brown eyes scan over my sun-tanned skin, and glance over my brown straight hair. I've put it up in a ponytail for now, but if it was let down, then it would reach my shoulder blades. I close the door behind me and have a wash in the big bucket in the corner of the cabin. The water is cold, but only the rich get warm water here, so I'm used to it. I get myself dry, and I take one of the towels next to the bucket and wrap it around myself. I walk out of the bathroom.

"You'd better get ready too," I tell Daniel. He glances up and nods.

"Alright then." He says, and he heads into the bathroom while I go over to the chest that holds all of our clothes. I sort though the folded fabric, trying to find something that looks good enough for the reapings. Because of the increase in the money we've been getting, we might be able to buy a second chest and some more clothes. This chest is nearly full, so it definitely shows how over the years, we've managed to save some extra money for a change of clothing.

I settle on a simple t-shirt and jeans, and I sling them on after rubbing myself dry. Daniel walks out in a towel, and he gets ready too.

We leave ten minutes later, and I walk down the street with Daniel.

"Do you think either of us will get reaped?" I ask him.

"I don't know," he replies. "We've had to take tesserae, but that's not uncommon around here, so we might get away with it this year."

I cast my mind over what the arena might be like this year. It is sure to be "interesting" as the Capitolites call it, and if I'm reaped, I'm sure I'll be able to survive long enough to come home. I'd hate to be reaped, because I'm worried if they'll use a mutt of Daniel or Mom on me. I wouldn't be able to kill them, and then I'd be dead with no chance of returning to Daniel and Isabelle.

"I'll see you after the reapings," I tell Daniel as we line up and sign in. I give Daniel a sisterly hug and a wave as I walk to the fifteen-year-old section.

He waves back and shouts "Good Luck Kari!"

He quickly disappears into the crowd of sixteen-year-old boys.

A suited man with a posh accent runs through the initial speech and video, and before I know it, the man has walked over to the girls reaping ball, and is reading someone's name out.

"Karina Faust!"

Then I realise that the name belongs to me. _I've _been reaped! Me! I have to say that I was prepared for this to happen, but I never thought it actually would. Unexpected tears slide down my cheeks, and I start to cry as I walk up to the stage. I stand there as I look over to Daniel. He looks like he's about to volunteer, so I shake my head and mouth to him not to come up. The posh man calls out another boys name instead, and I sigh in relief that it is not Daniel.

"David Peterson!"

A boy walks up, and I receive a nasty shock. David Peterson just happens to be the boy I was staring at this morning. He's not looking at anyone, obviously trying not to cry. Well, he's doing a much better job than I am right now.

"District Seven, here are your tributes for the 80th Hunger Games!"

I'm not looking forward to this...

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><p><strong>So…District Seven…<strong>

**I actually realise that I've written a lot more for these tributes, but they were so easy to write that they just came out. It's just one of those days today. **

**David seems to be having a bit of a bad day though. Do you feel any empathy for him, seen as he is an outcast? Do you think that he'll survive for long? As for Karina (Kari), she's got some balancing skills! Do you think she'll have any chance in the arena? And what did you think of her past? **

**Hope that you're all doing alright and dealing with the stress of upcoming exams or whatever other stresses that you have to deal with at the moment. I will wish you a Happy St. Patrick's Day, and I hope to update this Saturday.**

**Bye for now, and keep vouching for your favourite tributes!**

**~E.E.**


	9. District Eight Reapings

**Hi! Lots going on now, but I'm slicing through it! How are all of you? I've noticed that some of you are really looking forward to the Capitol chapters, which will be very soon. I'm excited too! The Capitol chapters are going to be fun to write; especially since there will be some drama!**

**One day late. Don't kill me! o_O**

**Thank you to OceaneBreeze13, thelastofdavid, 212degrees, Mayasha-chan, Titanic X and BamItsTyler for reviewing. Yes if there is a long list of reviewers, I WILL type them out. As for silent readers and followers…please review. You know you want to ;D**

**Right then. Four chapters left after this one. Thank Goodness that this one is over - I struggled!Thank you to The Koala Of Doom and TheEvilLittleBitch for the District Eight tributes!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena. I also do not own the Harry Potter reference in this chapter.**

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><p><span><strong>Nicolo Boone, District Eight Male POV<strong>

I walk home from the park exhausted. I got in two fights today; one with the bully who thought he could try and take my baseball bat from me, and the other was with a kid in my class who tried to start on me. I mean, I don't intend to get into fights, but they always seem to happen. I usually win, but that's not really my fault. Luckily, I always pick the fights I know I can win.

I trudge home with my best friend Mirko at my side. Everyone laughs at him and calls him a pretty boy. He's rich and spoiled, but he's not bad enough to get picked on for no reason.

"Good playing today," I tell him.

"Yeah…" he says, drifting off. "I wish that guy hadn't taken the bat though. It kinda ruined all the fun we had."

I nod silently, and our conversation dissipates into thin air, like the spray of water from an erupting geyser.

We pass the clothes factory where my Mom and Dad work. It's a big grey industrial building, where you can hear the hum of the electric and heating machines, and the faint sounds of stamping and sewing machines as they plough on, working. I know that I'll have to prepare for the reapings myself. Even on my first reaping, I was alone and I had to deal with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. It was horrible, because I thought that I was going to get reaped. Two years on, there is still the small flutter of worry in my stomach, but I'm getting used to it now. I just hope that I'll be alright. I don't want to get reaped.

I arrive in our home; a small but neat house for an average family of District Eight. Our family is fairly average, with both of my parents working in clothes factories, and my younger twelve-year-old brother dancing around the house, being an idiot (as per usual). I've always had enough to eat due to our average income, but I only have baseball as my source of entertainment. Luckily, I like the sport, so I rarely get bored of it.

I come into the house after saying goodbye to Mirko. Both of us are quite the quiet typo of person, but I don't think that either of us really care. We're friends and that's what matters I guess.

I walk up the stairs in our house to hear my little brother shout at me from behind his bedroom door.

"Hey Nicolo!" he yells. "You're late! I'm gonna tell Mom and Dad when they get back!"

"Don't care." I mutter and I go into my own room, to get ready for the reapings. I take an icy cold bath, and dress up in a blue shirt and dark jeans. I look smart enough for the reapings, so I'm ready to go. I walk over to the window in my room, and look out of it. The weather certainly seems to reflect the mood of the District. There are large black clouds that gather like deadly smoke, even though it's in the summer. As the raindrops start to patter on the window, I catch someone staring at me. He is about five foot nine, with blond hair swept to the side and dark brown eyes. He has tanned skin and is slightly muscular. Then I realise – it's me.

Cursing myself for my idiocy, I turn away from the window and walk out of my small room.

"Ready yet?" I call to my brother, and he mumbles something and scuffles around for the next ten minutes. That is what annoys me about my brother. Despite being so annoying and self absorbed, he decides to order me around or tell me off, before doing something wrong or stupid himself! What a hypocrite. I feel like raging at him, but I decide against it, or he'll just run to Mom and Dad after the reapings.

We walk out of the door and down the street, feeling the cold bite of raindrops on our exposed skin. My brother is shaking already, but I'm unsure if it's from the rain and the cold wind, or if he's scared. Probably a mixture of both.

I watch as the goose bumps appear on his arms, like the approach of the sun's shadow as the clouds block out its light. The tiny muscles under the skin contract and relax continuously in the hope of providing more warmth. He huddles closer to me, and I let him, because it _is _his first reaping, and I know how scary it is to have the prospect of losing your life thrown at you. Getting reaped is probably worse, where you'd stand on that stage, frozen in fear like a stone statue. But this is no visit from Medusa; it's a one-way trip to hell. You'd be fleeing from tributes that are stronger than you, and it's probable that you will have a sword through your gut in the first couple of days. Your family will then be reunited with you once more, but you will never see their dripping faces and their scrunched up cheeks as they sob over your rigid body. And that's how it goes, again and again, year after year. Twenty-three go in, and only one comes out. You practically have no chance. A tiny one in twenty-four chance of your return to your home. And even then you will be broken.

I realise that we're about to sign in. My brother makes a small yelping sound when his finger is pricked, and he scuffs his feet and moves in the direction of the twelve-year-old section. Then it is my turn for my blood to be stolen from me, and I make my way to the fourteen-year-old section, to wait for our escort to arrive. I meet up with Mirko.

"Good luck," he says.

"Same to you." I reply.

A woman in a simple blue dress with a black belt walks up to the stage. Her heels are also blue, and they aren't overly high. This looks like a new escort instead of the one from last year, and she seems fairly normal with her curled brown hair and blue lipstick. Unless you count her eyes and her skin. They are a vibrant turquoise, which clashes horridly with her dress. Even her teeth are blue. Capitol fashions continue to amaze me.

She announces the Games in a soft but firm voice, and she reaps the girl, nice and quickly. She doesn't use any of the chitchat the woman used last year.

"Ali Combs."

It sounded like a weird name, and I expect someone with dark hair and eyes to come up. Instead, a girl with a sour look on her face walked up to the stage, her hair dead straight and a dirty blonde, and her eyes an icy blue. She makes a small "hmph" sound, before crossing her arms.

The escort takes a slip from the boys bowl.

"Nicolo Boone."

Blast. I've been chosen. I walk up onto the stage with a straight face. I felt that I looked calm and composed, so I made sure that I did my best to look like that. I didn't need to show any weakness in these Games. Maybe I'd find some allies, and win this. That sounds like a good idea to me. I am hoping there will be some allies that can help me win these Games.

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><p><strong><span>Ali Combs, District Eight Female POV<span>**

I strut around my house like I own the place. Well, technically, I DO own the place after my wrinkly old Grandpa finally keels over. How do I survive? Oh, woe is me! Well, because I am so amazing at everything, I can get absolutely anything I want. Why? Because I'm the best, that's why. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sadly, nobody else seems to notice that. I have no friends, but that's only because they're jealous of my boobs and my awesomeness. There you go. Ali the Amazing in a nutshell. After all, I'm much better than that bag of bones over there. He thinks he's a victor, sitting in that wooden rocking chair as he wastes the years he has left in front of a fire. He feels guilty for killing all of the tributes in the arena. See, he won the 20th Hunger Games by surprise attacking his District partner. She was dead within seconds, he took the crown, he got the money, and now all he does is waste it all on alcohol.

I mean, why? What was the point of wasting all of that precious money on alcohol. Go for something more glamourous, like getting me more clothes and sweets for example. Easy. All you have to do is this:

Walk into the shop and find the best dress ever.

Pick up the dress and take it to the till.

Pay for the dress and give it to the best person in the whole wide world.

And if you didn't know, the best person in the world is me.

I walk over to Grandpa, and study his face. The years have brought the spots from his teenage years back to his translucent skin. The purpled rash of old age seeps across the man's exterior, and the blue veins carry pumped blood through his body. His pale and bony hand is clasped around the broken bottle, and dark liquid forms a stain in the carpet. Why isn't he more careful? His body is hunched over, and his eyes are wide and glassy, staring at the writhing flames in his eyes. The bags under his wide sockets hang limply from his face, as if you could simply peel off the skin to reveal a younger version of the man. His hair is wispy, and a mixture of white, brown and red, as the slow red rivers of his open blood vessels fail to clot, and instead run down the back of his head.

I've just killed my Grandpa. Oops.

"I'm going to go and get ready for the reapings, and I'm going to be the best looking girl there," I tell the dead man. "I'm going to shine, and come home unscathed from the reapings. Then you're going to know what it feels like to be cooked. You'll be a charred crisp of nothing once I'm done with you. You'll just have to wait here until I come back."

A small, crazed smile plays on my face, but then it falls back into seriousness. I'm a killer, so that now makes me the best murderer in the whole of Panem. I'm not just a killer though. I'm a _victor_ killer. And I'm still the best at arguments too. That's now another thing that I'm the best at. Literally if anyone tried to sass me out or to have an argument with me, I would floor them easily.

I walk up the stairs and into my room, brushing my blonde hair, and washing away any evidence that I've just committed murder. They can't charge me for it. I can argue my case better than anyone can. Plus, the Capitol love it when victors die, so I must be doing them a favour. Remember the 75th Hunger Games? I'm sure President Snow won't mind too much if he finds out.

I decide to wear a black, body hugging dress, which highlights my body. I look sexy and determined.

I leave the house, and go to the reapings. Signing in is hilarious. I hold up my hand, and barge my way to the front of the line, slapping who ever I want to in the face and leaving red marks. After all, the best must sign in first.

The escort takes her time coming to the stage, and I have to swallow back the bile that comes up my throat. This woman looks like a freaking Cornish Pixie! Except maybe not as blue, but she still bears a close resemblance to one. Everything except her hair is a vibrant blue. Maybe she'll get that done next. What a terrible style. She needs a makeover. Preferably one from me though, because no one can do it better than I can.

She shows us this crappy film, and I stare in boredom at the other seventeen-year-old losers around me. _That_ skirt and _that _top? No way. That dress does not go with that hairstyle. Ew. Seriously, a mini skirt? Whore.

I stop staring at the other girls' disgusting outfits as the equally badly dressed escort walks over to the reaping bowl.

"Ali Combs."

That little-

What a stupid-

How? Why? What have I ever done to deserve this? Now I can't burn Grandpa. Thanks a lot. Nevermind. I can easily win these Games, and I can probably do it with my eyes closed. I may not be able to fight, but they won't be able to either, and my flawless killing skills can get any potential threats out of my way. And then, finished. I'll be back home in a couple of weeks. I'm going to have to air out my house now. I guess that's one disadvantage to being the best person in the world.

Oh well, there will be so many more benefit than losses. Say hello to the victor of the 80th Hunger Games.

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><p><strong>Done and dusted on this chapter. These tributes are a little interesting, but what do you think of them? Nicolo seems like a mysterious character, seen as there isn't much to learn from him. Do you think he's hiding something? What strengths do you think he'll have in the arena? As for Ali…what a killer to write (no pun intended). Do you think that she'll be able to use her looks and murderous ways to get through the arena? Or do you think that she'll be too self absorbed to focus on her survival?<strong>

**I've also been thinking that every author has like a thing, right? So, for this story I'm doing a little "Ask the Author". Here you can ask me any question (as long as it's not personal) about anything, and I will consider to answer it. I thought this would be a better way for you to get to know me a bit, seen as I don't think you know me that much, other than the fact that I do the IB. Tell me what you think of this idea, and if you like it, ask me a question! If you don't like it, then I'll just ditch the idea. **

**Right then, another update next week. **

**Bye for now!**

**~E.E.**


	10. District Nine Reapings

**Hi! Lots to talk about.**

**So, you liked the sound of my Ask the Author thing, eh? thelastofdavid asked me a question: **

**thelastofdavid: What is/are your favourite pairings in the Hunger Games fandom?**

**ElementalEvolution: Well, truthfully I support practically any pairing that isn't weird or paedophilic e.g. President Snow and Prim. YUCK! **

**So technically I don't have a favourite. I'm happy with any romance as long as it works and it's not too disgusting. I don't like incest pairings, and to those Buttercup x Katniss shippers, WHAT ARE YOU ON? Seriously, just no. A ship that I do want to exist however, is Mrs Everdeen x Cinna. It may seem weird, but what if Mr Everdeen survived the explosion but was whisked away to the Capitol? He had plastic surgery for his injuries, and he dyed his skin brown and became a stylist. He changed his name as well. It kind of explains how Cinna is so protective of Katniss. I dunno, it was just a thought, and I think it's fairly legit. Meh. XD **

**I hope I answered your question! **

**Thank you to 212degrees, thelastofdavid, BamItsTyler, TheGlitchOnFire, HawkwardDolphin, Mayasha-chan, The Koala Of Doom, Titanic X, OceaneBreeze13 and SpaceAgeDino for the reviews. Yay! **

**Thank you to EllipticDART and OceaneBreeze13 for the District Nine tributes! I understand that a lot of you really can't wait for the Capitol chapters. Well, I'm going to be mean and build tension for you by updating normally. I know, I'm a meanie XD  
>Sorry for this chapter being late…I'm beta reading someone's work, and then I realised I needed to do this. I really need to learn to juggle everything… :-**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I also do not own Pepsi or Coca-Cola (just to be safe!). I only own the arena and my ridiculously long authors note. I also own ten new reviews. Thanks!**

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><p><span><strong>Derek Schutze, District Nine Male POV<strong>

Forwards. Backwards. Forwards. Backwards. Forwards. Backwards.  
>The sickle in my hand moves with my arm as I cut the grain in the wheat fields. All of my senses have gone numb with boredom, moving continuously and mechanically. My slices never change. They never vary. The sickle makes the same slicing sound each time I swing it into the wheat. Even the wheat itself is identical, the long stalks falling down as if in slow motion, the heads of the wheat waving about as it topples to the ground. The golden head of the plant sprouts whiskers of its own, as long as cat's whiskers, which jostle as the wheat falls. Forwards. Backwards. Forwards. Backwards. It seems like time is a drawn out second, and no matter how many slices my arm makes, nothing happens. Just the fall of more wheat; brothers in arms that contrast with the darkness of the earth they were raised from. At this moment in time, this is my only purpose. Since I was eleven, I have worked in this very field. I've cut. I've collected. I've replanted. And then I've repeated the cycle again, hoping that I don't get reaped for the Hunger Games. I haven't been reaped yet.<p>

We are called back in, for the day's work finishes early. I leave my sickle with the Peacekeepers, and I file my way out of the field and into the District. As usual, my 7-year-old sister, Sarah, waits outside for me to come out. Sarah is always following me around. I'm not sure why, but it must be out of some kind of interest or admiration. I don't know. Maybe she'll grow out of it.

"Hi Sarah," I say.

"Hi!" she smiles.

That's basically how our conversation goes. It's not that I don't like her, it's just that I don't talk much. I tend to be quite the loner, but I'm loyal to what few friends I have. Well, that's what I've been told.

We make our way home, and walk in through the door.

"It's time to get ready," I tell Sarah with a smile, and she leaves me to go up to my room to get dressed for the reapings. My outfit has been laid out for me on my bed; my Dad's red dress shirt, his work jeans, and his work boots.

I get washed and dressed, pulling the red dress shirt over my scarred arms, and the jeans over my marked legs. The scars from years of hard work have been written onto my body, and they stand out like tattoos, forever present on my skin.

I hear the door shut downstairs, meaning that Mom and Dad must be home.

I'm fairly presentable, so I walk downstairs to meet Mom and Dad. Dad works as an operator at the mill, so he makes sure that everything runs smoothly. Mom works at the mills quality control, so that only the best grain goes to the Capitol.

"Hi Mom, Dad," I say.

"Hi Derek," Mom says, and she gives me a hug and a kiss. Dad shakes my hand, and is about to say something when Sarah bounds down the stairs. She leaps into Dad's arms, and Mom gives her a small hug.

Dad puts Sarah down, and turns to me.

"Good luck at the reapings, son," he says with an encouraging smile.

"Thanks Dad." I reply, and I return his smile before waving goodbye and leaving the house. I walk to the reapings alone and without my sister following me. Mom and Dad keep her back and let me go early so that I'm not late. They'll probably get changed and come down in a few minutes.

"Hey Derek,"

I jump, and my mind focuses on my surroundings once more. My friend, Josh Langsam, is standing next to me. Josh is my best friend, and we're pretty much brothers. He's sixteen; the same age as I am.

"Where were you in the field today?" I ask him. "I didn't see you. You're usually near me."

Josh makes a face.

"I overslept and I got in a little later than usual," he explains. "I was put on the other side of the field, and I couldn't find you. I was lucky that I wasn't late. Y'know how the Peacekeepers are with lateness."

I nod, understanding what he means. If you were late to your work on the fields, you were publicly whipped in the town square. Both Josh and I have never been whipped, and we're not planning on ending up in the town square just for being late. It looked excruciating, and I didn't want the experience.

I feel a sudden weight on my back, and someone latches their arms around my neck, and their legs around my waist. I stumble, but manage to stay upright.

"Hi!" someone says in my ear.

"Hey Alexis," Josh answers causally.

"Hi. How are you?" I say to the giggling girl on my back.

Alexis is a hyperactive, nature-loving girl who works with my Mom in the mill. Josh and I are used to Alexis' free spirited personality. She is a good friend of ours, although I have a crush on her. I don't know when I first felt it, but I know that I love almost everything about her. I just don't have the courage to ask her out, because I'm afraid that she'll turn me down.

My heart soars when she answers my question in a cheery tone.

"I'm feeling on top of the world!" she cries, and then she laughs and gets off of my back. "How about you?"

"I'm alright," I answer. "Just a little worried about the reapings,"

Josh smiles.

"Don't worry about it Derek. You'll be fine," he says.

"I know, I just get irrationally scared over the fact that I might get picked." I reply.

I've been worried about whether or not I'll get reaped for a long time. I'm scared of the slips of paper in that glass bowl, because any one of them could be a one-way ticket to my death. Compounding my worries, if Josh got reaped, I know that I'd have to volunteer. How else would he be able to support his family? He has two brothers, a sister, his parents and himself to feed, whereas I only have four in my family. That increases my chances of being reaped by almost double, because I know that I'd have to step in for my friend.

We all line up for the reapings, one by one, and I start to shake uncontrollably. I can't help it, I just get really scared when it comes to these things. In a few minutes, my life could be thrown away. I could lose everything in just an hour. I could be dead within a couple of weeks.

Alexis and Josh try to calm me down, but their efforts don't change how I feel. By the time I arrive at the desk, I am told by Josh that my face is deathly pale.

The Peacekeeper at the desk silently pricks my finger, and I catch my reflection in their mask. This Peacekeeper is still wearing their mask for some reason, which I take to be unusual. But it gives me five seconds to take a look at myself.

I tower over the seated Peacekeeper, seen as I'm six foot two. My green eyes stare back at me in fear of what the next few minutes of my life could bring. My dark brown hair flutters nervously in the breeze that flies through the town square.

I'm not ready for this. But have I ever been ready? Have I ever been prepared for the reapings?

I walk to the sixteen year old section with Josh, nodding and waving to Alexis as she walks off to her section. The escort this year is the same as usual; a cheerful woman dressed up in a massive bear suit. I wait until she picks the name from the glass bowl, hoping that it is not me who is about to be reaped. But, isn't everyone thinking that? Doesn't everyone want to be safe from the wrath of the Capitol?

"Adelaide Plum!" the woman in the bear suit cries, her voice muffled. The woman up on stage wrestles with the microphone due to the constricting suit that she is wearing. A couple of people snigger.

"Fuck this," the woman mutters, and she rips of the bulbous head of the bear, and chucks it off stage.

"That's better," she smiles. "Now, where is Adelaide?"

A sobbing girl walks up to the front, and goes up to the stage. She looks young, and I recognise her from somewhere…Oh yes! She's the Mayor's daughter. I look over to him, seeing his face drain of colour as he watches his distressed daughter cry out her despair in front of the whole of Panem.

The mascot walks over to the boy's reaping bowl and takes out a slip. She drops the slip, and swears so loudly, that I see some of the parents cover their children's ears.

The woman clears her throat and talks into the microphone sweetly and clearly, acting as if nothing had happened.

"Josh Langsam!"

Josh and I look at each other in horror. Josh has been picked. He starts to move out into the aisle, but I pull him back. There's no way he's going into that arena.

"I volunteer!" I call, and I walk up to the stage, giving the escort my name.

Josh stares at me. Alexis stares at me. My parents stare at me. Even Sarah has a scared look on her face; as if the stage is the first step I'll be taking to my deathbed. Then I realise that I _am_ taking a step towards my deathbed. The chances of my return are slim. What have I done? I may have saved my friend from a horrible fate, but if I don't come home, many people's lives will still be torn apart. How am I supposed to die when I'm meant to be here, safe and warm at home? Why do I need to die when my family needs the money I earn so much?

It looks like I'm going to have to try and win.

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><p><strong><span>Adelaide "Addie" Plum, District Nine Female POV<span>**

I prance around the kitchen, humming away senselessly. The reapings are today, but I don't need to worry, because I won't get picked. My name is only in there once, so there's practically no chance that I'll get picked!

Mom is washing the dishes, swaying to my beautiful voice, as I sing and hum random songs. Dad left early this morning to go to the reapings, but I'll be seeing him later, and we can have some marshmallows around the fire. My Dad is the Mayor of District Nine, and marshmallows are a luxury that we can afford. Although…we only ever have them after the reapings. I've never asked Dad why.

Mom finishes washing as I twirl about, and she quickly prepares lunch. She gets a few slices of bread, and she makes sandwiches. She then proceeds to cut the sandwich in half. I frown.

"Mooooom," I say.

"What is it dear?" Mom asks me kindly.

"Why do we cut the sandwiches in half?" I ask. It's a strange idea to me.

"That's because it makes the sandwiches easier to eat, dear." Mom smiles, and she turns back to wipe down the side. She suddenly sneezes, shutting her eyes tight. Her short blonde hair jerks forward and rises again as her head comes back up.

I think hard.

"Mooooom," I say again.

"Yes honey?"

"Why do we shut our eyes when we sneeze?" I ask.

"I don't know, dear," replies Mom, frowning as she tries to answer my question.

"Would our eyes pop out if we didn't?"

"I don't know that either,"

"Ew! I don't want to think about it!" I cry, and I hop off of my seat, my mouth full of sandwich. I grab a glass of milk and I drink it quickly, gulping down the cold liquid with loud satisfied sounds.

"I'm gonna go and get ready Mom," I say.

"For what?" she asks. "Oh yes, the reapings. OK dear, make sure that you wear a pretty dress."

"Ohhh-Kay!" I squeal, and I run up the stairs with my half eaten sandwich still in my hand. I put it on the windowsill, and dance over to my wardrobe, singing.

"_It's the reapings today! It's the reapings today! I'm gonna be safe! No tiiiiiiiiiiiime to delay!" _I sing, and the birds outside my window join in with me for a little bit.

I spend half an hour taking apart my wardrobe, before I manage to find a dress that's good enough. Velvet, no…Satin, no…Aha! Here we are!

I slip on a pink sparkly dress. It looks pretty and very nice on me. Now I need to make sure that I look pretty as well. I go over to the mirror, and I brush my short blonde curls, letting them frame my pale face. My blue eyes look at my hands as I make myself perfect.

"Done!" I announce to nobody in particular, and I run down the stairs to show Mom.

"You look so pretty!" she coos. "Are you ready, dear?"

"Yep!" I tell her. I can't wait until marshmallows. "I'm just hungry!"

Mom smiles, and gets a pot of blueberries out of the cupboard.

"Have these." she says, and I follow her out of the door of our amazing house. We're not far from the town square, but Mom makes sure that we always visit my best friend in the Victors Village first. Her name is Calina Verez. She's the daughter of the woman who won the Hunger Games a while back. I finish off the blueberries and hand the pot to Mom. She takes it from me.

Calina comes out of her house, and we run up to each other, squealing.

"Calina!" I yell. "How are you?"

"Addie!" she screams. "I love your dress!"

"You ready?" I ask her.

"Yeah!" she says enthusiastically.

We both start to dance and sing together; a rhyme that we've both used for ages to show that we're best friends.

"_I am the champion!_" she cries.

"_Oh no you're not!_" I reply.

"_Under, Over, Pepsi, Cola, One, Two, Three!_"we both join in together on the last part, and we do a handstand. We can't judge whose handstand is the best, so we call it a draw.

We get up and brush ourselves off, while my Mom and Calina's Mom talk about grown-up stuff. They walk down to the square and we follow them. Eventually, we get there, and we have to stand in this really long line to get our fingers pricked really hard.

"Why does it draw blood?" I ask the person in the white armoured suit, but I am only pushed along roughly, and told not to ask such a stupid question. I shrug and carry on.

Calina and I walk to the twelve-year-old section, and the escort comes up in a bear suit. A video plays but Carlina and me are singing and playing pat a cake all the way through it, so I don't hear anything about it. What's the point of learning about the Hunger Games if I won't get reaped?  
>The woman in the bear suit says something rude and reaps the girl. It won't be me, so I'm alright.<p>

"Adelaide Plum!"

My blood turns into ice at the woman's words. What? I've been reaped? The icy coldness seems to trickle into my muscles, willing them to move. The shock hits me so hard that I swear I might keel over from surprise and dread. I start to move up to the stage, crying and sobbing all the way. It's not fair! Why do I have to be sent to die? I'm the Mayor's daughter! I shouldn't be allowed to get reaped at all. Dad only looks at me with sadness as I stand there on the stage, but I can see barely anything through the fogginess in my eyes caused by my torrents of salty tears.

All of a sudden I'm very scared of what's going to happen to me. I could be dead in a little while…  
>I don't think I will get any marshmallows from my Dad tonight.<p>

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><p><strong>I am now a zombie...<strong>

**I'm practically falling asleep on my laptop. Not a great combination. It makes me happier to say that there are no more annoying little girls for the next three chapters! Yay!**

**Please check out OceaneBreeze13's SYOT called "Standing Together – The 175th Hunger Games"; it has a very interesting Quell twist, and is certainly worth a look!**

**I hope that you're all having a wonderful day/night! I will update as soon as possible. Remember to Ask Any Questions that you want to know about me (not too personal) and I will answer them in my next update.**

**Bye for now,**

**~E.E. **


	11. District Ten Reapings

**Hi! How is everyone? I had my Leavers Day, so I don't have school until I go to university now XD**

**I do however; have exams in four weeks time. AAAAAH! This will decide the whole course of my future. What am I doing on here? Well, a guy has to make some kind of free time to keep his sanity…**

**Anyway, thank you to BamItsTyler for giving me a question! **

**BamItsTyler: What annoys you most about this fandom? **

**ElementalEvolution: Well, there are quite a few things! Firstly, I hate it when people write stories and don't finish them. They really annoy me! I mean, I follow a story, and then they just leave me hanging? No! Get your ass back here and finish it! Or at least update it once a month, like I do on my Harry Potter story. Secondly, SYOT's. Some SYOT's are very well written and get almost no attention! Why are people so ignorant? Luckily for me, I have quite a lot of attention when it comes to my SYOT (THANK YOU!), but other authors don't get many interested readers. I feel sorry for them, because frankly, it's rather unfair. **

**Thank you to thelastofdavid, BamItsTyler, 212degrees, EllipticDART, and WendyHamlet for reviewing! I am grateful for your reviews as usual :)**

**Thank you to OceaneBreeze13 and 10-Ton-Turner for the District Ten tributes XD**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own the arena and my ridiculously long authors note.**

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><p><strong><span>Kip Lightcomb, District Ten Male POV<span>**

I can see the morning light through my eyelids. I'm wrapped up in my thin duvet, knowing that I've woken up late. I have slept in on a reaping day.

It's the reapings today. The realisation hits me hard as I realise that I should be ready for the reapings by now.

I scramble out of bed by kicking off the duvet, and I hurry over to my wardrobe. I hunt around for some clothes, eventually finding a grey polo shirt, and grey dress pants, which look good enough to go to the reapings in. Putting on the polo shirt takes some time, and I have to use my left arm to guide my right through it. My right arm has a muscle deficiency and I've had it since birth. My hand is all folded together, like a rolled up carpet that has been squashed. My tanned skin is creased and wrinkled, hanging off of my arm in a sickening manner. The arm itself has a shrivelled appearance, almost as if my arm is a wilting plant.

I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen for lunch. I hate waking up late, because that means I might be late to the reapings. And if the Peacekeepers denounce our family as absent, then we'll get whipped for it.

My eighteen-year-old sisters, Colby and Calista, are in the kitchen. They're twins, and they're good sisters to me. The only thing I find annoying is that they continuously sympathise with me because I am limited to the things I do due to my useless right arm.

"Don't worry! I'll cut up some bread for you," Colby says when she sees my hand reach for the loaf.

"I'll grab the knife," Calista announces, and she walks to get it. I roll my eyes. It is nice of them to do these things for me, and I understand that they mean well, but I wish that I could do something by myself for once, instead of getting help. I got rid of the bullies on my own, so why can't I handle cutting a piece of bread?

I remember when I got bullied and laughed at because of my shrivelled arm. That was until I had had enough with the bullies, and I challenged them to a stone- throwing contest. They set up the targets; small squares of left over wood that hung on the trees in the school grounds. We all threw our stones. Although I only hit one of the targets, I hit it in the middle. Exactly in the middle. People were impressed with me, and they didn't bully me after that. Since then, I have trained myself to improve my aim as much as I can. I still don't have friends, but that's my choice. I prefer to be alone, where I can hear myself think.

Colby and Calista seem to be much happier today, and they were rushing around, doing each other's hair and dresses to make themselves look better for their final reapings. After this year, they are free. They will have escaped from the wrath of the Capitol. They will be no longer eligible to play the worst game imaginable: The Hunger Games. But I'm still at risk for two more years after this one. I'm hoping that I won't get reaped. I'm in there exactly fifteen times. My chances are a lot smaller than the eighteen year olds that have signed up for tesserae to feed their families, but I still have a chance of being picked. Just because I have less slips in there, it doesn't mean that I have no chance of getting reaped. I can very easily be reaped. Anyone could be. No matter how small the chance is, anyone can get reaped. There's no point in wishing that you're not going to get reaped, because _someone _has to get picked, and it could easily be you.

The probability of Colby or Calista getting reaped is higher than mine, but only by thirteen slips each. They can easily get reaped too. I don't think I would know how sad Colby and Calista would be if one of them were to be reaped. My sisters were eachother's best friends; they would be heartbroken if one of them was sent to the Hunger Games, let alone how they distraught they would be if one of them were to die in the Games.

I'm about to leave, when Mom and Dad get back from work.

"Now, now Kelpie, they'll be fine," Dad tells Mom as he walks in through the door.

My Mom nods at him, and then hugs each of us in turn, holding me for slightly longer than the others. I know that she feels guilty for the fact that she couldn't look after me in the past. She has very little time seen as she works so many hours. If my calculations are correct, then she spends her life working for at least eighty four hours a week, which is over three days of the week working if she was to work for twenty four hours without stopping for food, toilet breaks, or sleep.

The black bags under her eyes, tell me that she didn't get much sleep last night. She never does on the day before the reapings, because she's so worried about one of us getting reaped.

Dad comes into the house, and gives the girls a kiss. He turns to me, and shakes the lump of flesh on my right arm. He doesn't wince or cringe. His face is serious and determined. I like this part of Dad. He doesn't judge me on my disability.

"You can do this Kip," he tells me. "You won't get reaped today, I know it. You can get through this year like you've done so since your first reaping. After this year, it's only two years left for you, and then your future will be there for the taking. Remember m'boy, you can do anything you want."

I nod, and my Dad smiles, his blue eyes twinkling with pride, and his blond hair shining like gold.

Most of our family look the same. We all have hair that mimic rays of sunlight, and we all have the same tanned skin. The only difference between us, is that Dad, Colby and Calista have blue eyes, and Mom and I have brown eyes. We're strikingly similar.

It's probably because the dominant gene that Mom and Dad passed down to us meant that we were to have fair hair. As for the eyes, the recessive gene became dominant, meaning that Colby and Calista have blue eyes instead of brown. Mom's brown eye gene remained dominant, and it was passed down to me.

Colby, Calista and I leave the house and bid Mom and Dad farewell.

"Gunner, I hope they'll be alright…" I hear my Mom say behind me.

"Don't worry Kelpie, they will be." Dad replies, and they shut the door behind them. The three of us walk to the reapings, but I stay far behind the girls, because I need some peace and quiet to prepare myself for the reapings. I calculate that my chances of being reaped, and they are so close to zero that I should be safe. But the chance of me being chosen is still present, hounding me with every step I take.

I sign in, waiting patiently for the Peacekeeper to prick my finger before I can move on. I walk to the sixteen-year-old section, and I wait inside the roped area. I'm relieved I'm not late, and judging by the clock on the large white screen of canvas next to the stage, we have exactly thirty four seconds until the reapings are scheduled to start. I wait for those thirty four seconds, before our escort comes up. She's called Dina Sykes, and she can't help but to talk in continuous rhyme, because she thinks it's glamourous and fashionable. I'm surprised she's not tired of it after three years of rhyming.

"The reapings are fun, so let's get this done!" she trills, rhyming as usual.

The Treaty of Treason is played, and I watch the graphics with awe. If I remember correctly, a machine called a 'projector' is used to play the film to us. I've always been baffled at how the Capitol can create enough technology to make things like this.

Once that is over and done with, Dina skips over to the girls reaping ball, and her golden wig slides slightly to the side. She picks out a slip and opens it, straightening her wig at the same time.

"Oops! My wig is loose, the girl this year is Skyla Truce!"

A moody, brooding girl stalks up to the stage, and huffs as she stomps up the steps, staring coldly at the camera. Nice angle. She seems uncaring and confident. That will definitely get her sponsors.

Dina trots over to the boys reaping ball, and she takes a slip from the bowl. Everyone around me takes a collective breath as she reads out the name on the slip, trying to rhyme it the best she can.

"I feel sorry for the ones at home, the boy today is Kip Lightcomb!"

I internally cringe at the rhyme, but I've still been reaped. I solemnly walk up to the stage, already calculating my chances of winning. It's one in twenty-four without intervening variables such as mutts and the availability of water.

I glance over at Skyla, and she glares back at me defensively. I wasn't planning on teaming up with anyone in the Hunger Games. As I said before, I'd rather have my peace and quiet, plus, my allies would definitely ask about my arm, and I don't want to be judged on my physical appearance.

I know that I need to win to show my Dad that I can do anything, just like he told me I could. I can't fail them. Just because I have one arm, it does not mean that I can't win. So I'm going show them all by winning.

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><p><span><strong>Skyla Truce, District Ten Female POV<strong>

So, here I am, walking by myself to the reapings. It's not great to go alone, but I'm going to have to put up with it if I want to be on time.

It's not my fault if my family are going to be late.

I woke up this morning, feeling perfectly normal, until along came the reapings and rained on my parade. My older brother Bernie was swaggering around the house and being a complete ass. He's seventeen, and next year, and it will be his last reaping. Then he'll be exempt from them, the lucky bastard. He's a selfish prick if I can put it nicely. I hate it when his blue eyes flash cheekily when he torments me. And then he doesn't get in trouble for annoying me. And who does? I do.

I'm the second oldest sibling in the house. I'm sixteen years old, but my name is in there quite a few times, because I had to take out tesserae for our family. Bernie had to do it too, but he's trained for the Hunger Games with his friends, so he tells me. I haven't trained, but I can pack a decent punch. My Dad once taught me how to punch someone properly, so I can hold my own in a fight. However, I doubt that a fist could do much in a fight when you're up against a career with a hefty sword.

And then my Mom would swoop in, shrieking like a hag and telling me to do the dishes, or to go out and gather berries from the bushes that grow wild near our house. It's like I'm a slave here, and I hate it. But anything is better than the Hunger Games, so I suck it up. It's a hard life here, but I have to deal with it, or I'll face horrible consequences. Nonetheless, my life sucks so much that I wouldn't be surprised if I was dragged off to fight to the death in an arena.

Our family however, doesn't stop there. I'm not your typical victimised sister that has to do everything for my family. I do much more than that, because there are two younger siblings in the house.

Adam is twelve, and it's his first reaping. I was going to help him get through it, but Mom and Dad yelled at me for forgetting to do the dishes this morning, so I stomped out. I'm probably going to have to deal with my punishment later, but I doubt it will be much more than a long list of chores, so I don't need to dwell on it too much.

Becky is the youngest member of our family, and she's only four years old. She doesn't really understand why there is the 'Hunger Games' and what the 'reapings' are, but she helps me do my chores whenever she can, running on chubby legs to find me things like flowers or pretty looking stones at the side of the road. I rarely smile, but when I do, it's usually because Becky has brought a smile onto my face.

I guess you could say that we're a typical family from District Ten; my Dad works with the livestock all day, and my Mom records the number of animals slaughtered by the District. She controls how much meat is sent to the Capitol, but it doesn't pay very much, because she only works about an hour every day. For the rest of it, she sits down on her fat butt, and watches the world go by. Ever since her friend died when she was younger, she's been bitter towards everyone. I'm surprised Dad married her to be honest.

I guess she takes it out on me, because I am about the same age her friend was when she was sent in.

I pass Hannah's house, but I know that I'll see her at the reapings, because she's always early to them, purely out of nervousness. She's sixteen, like I am, and she walks around on her tiptoes due to a problem with the muscles in her legs. I've heard that there are a few people about my age with muscle deficiencies in our District. I heard that there was some kind of chemical meant for the animals, which accidentally got in the District's food supply, meaning that some parents had deformed babies. I know a girl that only has half a face, and there's a boy in my year with a shrivelled arm. They all used to get laughed at, but we're all more mature now, and we don't bother laughing at each other any more. That doesn't stop the younger kids laughing though. Whenever they laugh at Hannah, I stalk up to them with my fists out, and they scatter.

I walk past a closed shop window, and I see my furious face reflected back at me. My dark brown hair is held up in a ponytail, and the strands of it fly everywhere like a writhing pit of snakes. My brown eyes look as if they could crush you and break every bone in your body with just with one stare. My olive skin makes way for my slightly bared teeth, which are gnashed together. Mom forced me into a purple t-shirt and a black skirt, but with the wind today, I know that she made me wear it in the hopes that it would blow up and cause me embarrassment. What a cow.

I sign in, and walk swiftly to the sixteen-year-old section, pushing down my skirt as it threatens to rise up. I can't see Hannah anywhere, so I'm guessing that she's on the other side of the section. I'll have to meet her afterwards.

The annoying escort bounces around like an idiot on stage, and when she calls my name, I immediately scowl. I can't afford to look like a weakling. Truthfully, I'm not surprised that I have been reaped this year. Discounting Hannah and Becky, not many people show me much kindness, so I'm not surprised that my day had to get worse by getting reaped. If anything it's gotten better, because I won't have to do any chores tonight.

I am going to have to be very careful when I get to the Capitol. With my lack of knowledge, I'm going to need someone to teach me some fighting skill, because frankly, I'm shit at it.

Right then. Let's do this, and show my witch of a Mother that I'm so much better than she is.

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><p><strong>I am done! I liked these two tributes, what do you think? <strong>

**Do you think that Kip's disability will hinder his efforts to survive in the arena? Or do you think he'll get sponsors through sympathy from the Capitolites? And Skyla seems like she has a hard life. Do you think she'll be prepared for the emotional roller-coaster ahead of her? Do you think that she can find an ally to help her to win, or do you reckon that she'll go solo?**

**Please review! It helps me understand where I'm going right/wrong, and plus, it helps keep the tributes that you want alive. **

**Don't forget to ****Ask the Author ****aka. Me about anything. Just ask me a question, and I'll answer it (as long as it's not too personal). Keep them rolling in!**

**I'm hoping to update as soon as possible, seen as I'm going to my Dad's next week, and I won't get much of a chance to write. I might get out another chapter before then, but if not, I will see you in a couple of weeks. I wish you well, and have a great day/night!**

**Bye for now my wonderful readers.  
>~E.E.<strong>


	12. District Eleven Reapings

**Hello! As I said before, I would have trouble updating. As you're all aware, there are exams next month, so I'll have more trouble then. I'll update as much as I can, but I'll get back to you guys on the details. I received several PM's wishing me a Happy Easter, and for me to enjoy my trip down to my Dad's, so thank you all (you know who you are). I also received a PM from someone who was feeling bad about reviewing late. Honestly guys, I don't care WHEN you review for your tribute, just as long as you review when you have the opportunity.**

**No questions this chapter. Feel free to ask any though – by PM or review XD**

**Thanks to OceaneBreeze13, 212degrees, BamItsTyler, Mayasha – chan and the Guest/HawkwardDolphin for reviewing. **

**I'm nearly there! Hooray! Thank you to TheEvilLittleBitch and Mayasha – chan for submitting the District Eleven tributes! I apologise to TheEvilLittleBitch for changing the surname of their tribute. It was clearly racist, and although it may not have been intentional, I couldn't leave it like that. (They don't seem interested in the story anyway :-/) I do not tolerate racism. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own the arena.**

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><p><span><strong>Massai Puna, District Eleven Male.<strong>

Hi. I'm Massai. I'm that kid. The one everyone likes. Well, the one the ladies like. The guys in the District hate me. Why? Because I'm so freaking handsome, that's why. Duh!

But what about a twelve-year-old like me makes the ladies go wild? My charm. My smile. My seductive wink. Day upon day, I walk around; feeling hotter than Finnick Odair says he is. But he's dead now. I'm the new one. The new and improved Finnick. And everyone knows it, even if they don't want to admit it to me. When the girls back away from me, whispering behind their hands, I realise how amazing people must think I am. What else would they be talking about? I don't know much about girls, but as far as I can guess, it seems that they think I'm a charmer.

I don't mean to be arrogant. I intend to be kind and humble. It just kind of slips out that way, as if I don't have the ability to control what I say. And those girls are just _so_ hot! I mean; those curves, that skin, those legs. I want them all. And I always check out the boobs too. Always.

I'm swaggering down the street as usual, winking at the girls that walk by in their reaping outfits, or licking my lips sensually at them. I can't help it. I seriously can't stop. It's my addiction, eyeing up these girls. I've even been diagnosed with something. I can't remember. It's one of those long words that just slip away from you.

I've just come from a hard days work at the fields. Along with all of the younger kids in my District, I help pick fruit from the trees in the orchards. I'm small, young and nimble, so I can scramble up the trees like a squirrel, racing up to the tops of the branches, and sending fruit flying down into large wicker baskets.

It's a great life, seen as my family aren't too poor. We have a few fruit trees in our garden, so I can always gather some to trade or to sell. I usually get some buyers by using my white smile and my charming face of course.

I creak open the door to my house, finding nobody there as usual. It's quite quiet around here, because my Mom and Dad are always working. The longer they work, the richer we are, and the more food there is on the table. Simple. In the past, I didn't like it very much, but I've learned to enjoy the freedom from my parents while I still can. I don't want them nagging me to do things any more than they already do. Dad's a fierce man, and always stands up for what he believes in. Although he knows I'm diagnosed, he hates the fact that I 'parade' the streets looking for the perfect one. I've got a lot of choice.

Mom is even worse than Dad. She doesn't shut up. She tells me that it's not how a boy should behave, and she's tried to stamp out my 'ridiculous' behaviour. Whatever. I'm twelve. I can do whatever I want to do, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

I run upstairs, and take an icy bath before drying my body and getting dressed in some reaping clothes. It's my first reaping, but as long as the ladies are looking at me, I'm not afraid. I bet they'll be lining up for kisses after they see what I'm wearing. What am I wearing? A grey waistcoat and tie, with a white shirt and grey trousers, followed by clean black shoes. It was Dad's first reaping outfit when he was twelve too. He never got reaped. I shouldn't either. My name is in there once. One tiny, little, insignificant slip. I've got almost no chance of going in. There, done. I'm safe. I smile into the mirror, the sunlight reflecting off of my dark skin and smooth hair, my dark eyes shining jovially into the reflective surface. I have to blink because even I am so dazzling that I have to take a step back.

Ready to go? I think so.

I inhale deeply as I step outside. I smell the damp earth of the fields, and the sweetness of the nectar in the plants. This will be a lasting memory. If I do go into the arena (not happening, but still) then at least than I can keep myself sane by holding onto the one memory that gives me reason to love the place where I live. So what if there's horrible Peacekeepers, or poor living conditions? It's the survival of the fittest out here. The best part of staying true to who you are is to remember who you want to become. If you want something enough, then you can get it, right?

I wink at some more of the girls, but they shy away. Maybe it's just the reapings that are making them act all weird. People are like that here. The fear is plastered onto their faces, hands trembling, and noses running.

I drift through the line of waiting tributes like a bird, getting my finger painfully pricked before I walk slowly to the twelve-year-old section. I almost get lost, but then I realise that I must be at that front. Rubbing my finger, I wait for the reapings to start. The bead of blood on my finger smears as I try to wipe it off. I lift up my head and watch a video. It's so…strange. How big it all is. As if this is some kind of a celebration, instead of sending people to their deaths. I'm shaking uncontrollably in fear. Even thinking of girls can't calm me down.

A rugged man walks up onto the stage. His beard is erratic and bushy, the hair reaching outwards in bright yellow spirals. He wears a suit, but it is pulled tight, fit to burst against his bulging belly. And it's a bright yellow as well. The man guffaws randomly, before waddling over to the girls reaping ball.

"Alrighty then!" he cries. "Can Nettle Scope please walk up to the stage please?"

There is a small situation where an older girl volunteers for Nettle. A chorus of cries from my section can be heard. What are they so upset about? This chorus of crying is then echoed by a lot of the young children in the town square. It seems like this girl is well known. Well, I've never heard of her.

She looks quite confident as she walks up to the stage and tells us her name, but I bet she's as scared as the rest of us on the inside. Vella Contessa. That's her name. She's quite pretty too.

The fat man drags himself over to the boys reaping bowl. Honestly, how does he think he can get a girl looking like _that_? He doesn't have an ounce of charm.

"Can Massai Puna please come to the stage!"

I blink once. Twice. Three times. Me? I'm shaking so much that I could be bouncing around like a rabbit fleeing from a fox. But the Capitol is the fox, and I; the rabbit, has been captured in their trap. Well, there will be ladies in the arena. Maybe I can charm them and make them kill the boys before they die themselves. Seems like a good idea to me. The cogs in my brain work furiously as I try to hold back the sobs that threaten to rack my body.

I see my Mom and Dad crying, and I silently join them, my head bowed, and my hands in knots. Just because I am not afraid of being reaped, it does not mean that I'm not afraid of dying. I must be the new Finnick Odair. Confident, brave, seductive. But pretending to be like that is much harder than I thought.

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><p><span><strong>Vella Contessa, District Eleven Female.<strong>

I'm hiding behind one of the trees in the meadow that we're playing in. More children than ever before have come to see me today, and right now, we're playing hide and seek. It may be reaping day, but I still have a couple of hours to get ready, and the children have begged me to play with them.

I love it when children smile. Their cheeks lift up as their toothy smiles grace their faces, and giggles upon giggles come tumbling out of their little mouths. Their eyes light up with happiness, a flame that is everlasting and a twinkle that never dims. I peek out from behind the tree to see if anyone is looking for me. Four children stand in the meadow, looking for the rest of us. About twenty have come today, so it looks like quite a task for them. They seem to be doing quite well, finding three more children that have been hiding in the grass. I know all of their names: Nettle, Budd, Xylem, Joss, Lily, Rosie, Torrent…

There are so many to remember; yet I remember them all. Why? Because they are my family. The only family I have, that is.

My parents died when I was very young. I don't know how they died, but ever since then, I have lived on my own. I had to fend for myself; finding food, water and shelter, mending my clothes, getting myself to school and back everyday. I remember that the walk to school was (and still is) always dangerous. Many of the people here are just as poor as I am, and they scavenge for happiness, even if it is short-lived and lies within a girl like me. I remember that they used to reach out to me with their dirty hands and yellowed teeth, trying to caress me, to touch me, to own me. They wanted to make me 'happy'. They had tried too many times to take my virginity, but I got away. Now, whenever an adult approaches me, I hold my breath. It scares me to know what they could do. Would they hit me? Or try to use me for their own pleasures? I don't trust adults anymore. Maybe it is because I haven't had parents to help me grow up. Maybe it was because people have been trying to take my stuff and my body for years. Maybe a mixture of both. I only trust the children. They could never hurt me, and I them. They're my family.

School is just as bad. People try to take my stuff, and I've been in my fair share of fist fights defending what little I have. A couple of years ago, I started to become well known for winning these small skirmishes. The word of my fighting spread like wildfire, especially through the children of the District. Every day, several children come to see me, to play games and to ask for my advice. I never get bored of them. Hearing a child's laugh is something so pure, so unique that I take it as something priceless. When they hug me, I feel like I have a place, that someone cares. That there is somewhere that I belong.

But today is the reapings. Who knows if I will be taken to the Capitol today? I've had to take out tesserae ever since I've been twelve, and I'm fifteen now, which gives me eight slips in the reaping bowl. Less slips than most, but I still have a chance. And if any of the children I knew were to get reaped, then I would have to volunteer for them. I wouldn't even hesitate. Including me, there are only two of us who are eligible to go into the Games this year. Nettle is twelve, but she's been lucky because her older brothers forbade her to take out tesserae, thank goodness. She's the oldest of the children that come to see me, and she usually helps to organise the games we play in the meadow every day. She's nervous about her first reaping, but playing with everyone else has taken her mind off things for the time being. Torrent is the second eldest, at eleven years old. Even though he's not eligible for the Games, that doesn't stop him from worrying about Nettle and me.

"Found you!" Cherri yells, pointing at my face peering around the rough bark of the tree. She's a young girl who's only six. She was hiding before, but she must have been found. She starts giggling, and I walk out, pouting and pretending to be unhappy that I've been found.

"I found you too!" I cry, smiling as I tickle Cherri under the chin. She shies away from my hands, giggling again.

It takes another half an hour to find the rest of the children. When they were younger, they were easier to find, but now that most of them have matured a little, they're finding more diverse places to hide. Not that it bothers me though. What bothers me is that I don't want any of them to get reaped in the future. It's not fair for children like Nettle and Torrent to be thrust into the Games, where they must spill blood, or feel it spilling from them. I don't want to hear their torturous screams filling the air as they are impaled by bloodthirsty careers, or crushed by the gaping jaws of vicious mutts. I don't want their cannons to boom, signalling the end of their short lives.

The game of hide and seek finishes, and Nettle looks over to me.

"It's time," she says, her eyes already shining. She looks so scared and vulnerable with her thin and petite form. I wish that I could quell her anxiety, so that she wouldn't feel so afraid. She only has her name in there once. Her older siblings have taken out tesserae for her, and she has six brothers and a sister. She's the youngest, and the last of her family to face the fear of getting reaped for the first time. And if she is reaped, I'll volunteer.

I calm myself down. Her name is only in there once. She'll be fine.

I kneel down next to her and embrace her in my arms, before drawing back and wiping off the tears that have escaped. Torrent, along with some of the older children sniffle a bit. The younger children just gape at us in confusion and innocence. They don't understand the horrors they will soon have to face. I just hope that none of them will be reaped when the time comes.

"You'll be alright," I tell Nettle. "OK?"

And I put on my most confident and cheery smile. Nettle gives me a watery grin in return, and we all set off through the meadow. One by one, the children wave goodbye and embrace me, skipping and running through the doors of their houses. I smile and wave in return, grateful for their cheery nature. That's what makes me so calm. You can't show that you're sad when you play with the children, or they'll wonder what's wrong and start to worry about you. If anyone needs to be worried about, it's them, not me.

Eventually, all the children have left me, and I carry on down the streets as fast as I can, dodging leering men and Peacekeepers alike. In a way, Peacekeepers can be just as horrible to us, especially after one gave me a scar on my cheek last year. The children were playing 'too close to the fence', and the Peacekeeper was scaring them and making them cry. I ran up to him and stood in front of the children. I remember it well…

"_Please Sir," I said. "They're only children, they don't understand!"_

"_Out of the way girl," the Peacekeeper barked harshly. "I need to make sure that these children are punished for attempting to leave the District,"_

_My mouth fell open at the false accusation. _

"_That's ridiculous!" I cried. "They weren't trying to leave the District. They wouldn't even know how to get over the fence! They're just children. You can't punish them for something they haven't done."_

"_I said, out of my way!" yelled the Peacekeeper, pushing me aside. I didn't stand down so easily though. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. _

"_They haven't done anything wrong!" I shouted. He wrenched his arm away from my grasp, but I pushed him away and stood in between the children and him._

"_Move! Or I'll force you to!" the Peacekeeper commanded. _

"_Go, quickly!" I told the children, and they fled into the bushes. The Peacekeeper tried to follow them, but I stood in front of him, blocking his way._

"_They are innocent." I pressed, staring him down fiercely, daring him to make a move. The Peacekeeper hesitated for a second and turned away. _

"_Fine," he huffed. "But next time…remember this!"_

_I had less than a few seconds to react as a whip appeared in the Peacekeepers hand, and he swung it round with all his strength. I was too slow, and the whip caught me on the cheek. The burn from the blow felt like I'd been branded with a smouldering piece of iron, and a scream of agony was torn from my throat, as I staggered back, clutching my cheek as the blood started to flow. _

_The Peacekeeper just walked away._

Casting away my memory, I arrive at the small shack I live in. It's not much, but it's a roof over my head, and it protects me from the wind, rain and the burning sun. I walk right in, ignoring the harsh creak of the rotting floorboards. I fling open a chest on the opposite side of the room, and I pick out what little clothes I have, finding what I always wear to the reapings; a tattered, but still decent cotton dress. It's dark blue, and it's the only pretty piece of clothing I own. I pull it on, and I take my ruined hairbrush, raking it through my chocolate brown locks. My hairbrush follows my curls down to my lower back, arranging the curls in some sort of formation. I walk over to the small cracked mirror in the corner, and I check my appearance briefly. My dark brown eyes scan over my caramel coloured skin, making sure that I look presentable, or clean at the least. Once I'm done, I walk quickly out of the shack and down to the town square. I see some of the children, and I give them a wave, but they're dragged away by their parents. I don't talk to anyone as I wait to sign in. I let the Peacekeeper prick my finger, but I hold the Peacekeeper in a glare as she does it. I don't trust them. What if they used my blood for something else? I shake my head of the stupid thought, and I walk down to the fifteen year old section. There wasn't much point in making up things that probably weren't true. Crater Mallard, our escort, waddles onto the stage with difficulty, and makes his usual show of dressing up the Capitol. I watch the film, but I'm not really concentrating, because I'm too busy glancing at Nettle, who I can make out through the lines of girls in front of me. She's shaking like a leaf, bless her. I wish that I can tell her that she'll be OK. I wish that she could be free from this horrible sadistic aspect of our lives, but what can I do against a superpower like the Capitol?

Crater lumbers over to the reaping ball, and snatches a name from the pile of slips.

"Nettle Scope!"

At Caster's cry, I am rooted to the spot in shock. Nettle got reaped…

My eyes flick frantically over to her as she starts to sob. I must volunteer for her. She is part of my family, and she'll be dead within the first five minutes of the arena. I however, have a chance. I would rather that her life was spared instead of mine. She has a family that loves her, and I don't. More people will miss her if she goes into the Games.

"I volunteer!" I call out, and the girls around me shuffle out of my way, forming a path to the stage. I pass Nettle on the way, and she embraces me, sobbing. I kiss her head once, and I pry her arms from around me. I can hear a lot of the children crying at the fact that I'm leaving them, and some of the adults are looking sad too, seen as they have heard about me from their children. I am shaking as I mount the stage, but I do my best to long strong.

A boy is reaped, but he is just as young as Nettle is by the looks of it. I don't recognise him though, which is strange. We shake hands, and before I know it, I am whisked away. From now on, I would be fighting for my life.

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><p><strong>So, there are your District Eleven tributes. What do you think of Massai's strange addiction to women? And he's twelve years old. Do you think he has the potential to be the first twelve-year-old victor? As for Vella, she seems like quite a kind person with a protective and determined streak. How well do you think she'll do in the arena? Do you think that he determination will get her far, or do you think that she doesn't have much of a chance?<strong>

**I apologise if the chapter was not as good. Revision...**

**I will update when I can. Please review; it tells me that you are reading and enjoying the story, plus it can give me feedback on what I'm doing. If you can't review, then PM me!**

**Bye for now, and enjoy! Please feel free to ask me any questions you want to know about me (not too personal XD), and I'll answer them in the next chapter. **

**Over and Out,**

**~E.E.**


	13. District Twelve Reapings

**Hello again everyone! It's been a while. My exams are OVER – YESSSSSSS – and I have finally found a time to update. My Mum is being very mean to me, and I've been out job-hunting for the past few days. Thank you to all of you who have been keeping very loyal to me over the course of the story so far. **

**A shoutout to The GlitchedUpMockingjay: It's OK if you review late, it's just as long as I see you reviewing at some point, because otherwise your character will be sleeping with the fishes. **

**BamItsTyler asked me a question: Who is your favourite Hunger Games character and why?**

**ElementalEvolution: Well, I have three that I constantly battle over, but if I had to choose, it would most definitely be Rue. She's so young and innocent, yet she is still thrust into the Games to witness the horrors it brings. She's quite smart, and the feels hit me hard when she died. Cinna is my second favourite. He's always been there for Katniss, and he has tried to protect and help her in every way he can. You can guess what I looked like when he died too ¬¬**

**My third favourite is Johanna. I mean, come on. She stripped in the elevator, doesn't give a damn about the Capitol, and she is hilariously sassy. Enough said. I like the other characters too, but these are my favourites. **

**OceaneBreeze13 asked me a question: If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?**

**ElementalEvolution: I don't really know. I guess just somewhere with deciduous forestry, with an access to WiFi and the wonderful sounds of nature. Anywhere in the world would be fine. Just give me a forest, unlimited food, and WiFi, and it will all be OK XD**

**Thank you to BamItsTyler, 212degrees, Mayasha-chan, EllipticDART, Wendy Hamlet, OceaneBreeze13, GlitchedUpMockingjay and HawkwardDolphin for the reviews! Not many reviews until I reach 100 now XD**

**Thank you to Mayasha-chan and HawkwardDolphin for submitting the District Twelve tributes!**

**Disclaimer: Yes. The same one. I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena and my ridiculously long authors notes.**

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><p><span><strong>Luke Coloss, District Twelve Male.<strong>

A gentle wind rustles my hair softly. Sniffing, I can smell the ashy smell of coal, and the spicy scent of cinnamon. It wafts towards me from the district; its familiar smell telling me that everyone is up and ready to go. Another reaping day is here.

We live on the outskirts of District Twelve, so we have quite a way to walk to the town square. We still have at least a couple of hours to get ready though, so I'm not going to bother about moving yet. Thomas is probably playing with his friends. It's his first reaping today, so I expect he'll be nervous. So for now, it's just me. I don't have any friends. I can't let people get to close to me, especially after what happened back then. What if they were to leave me as well?

We were a happy family. We didn't care if times were rough. I played jokes on my family, and everyone laughed at them. We weren't worried about the dark world we lived in. As long as we had each other, it wouldn't matter. We were safe. We were happy. I remember that Mom used to have this friend that we used to write to, and it used to be lots of fun reading her replies. Sometimes, her friend's daughter wrote to us too. For some reason though, I can't remember their names. It's on the tip of my tongue, but it's still out of reach. It's frustrating, but I push it away, moving on through my memories of happiness and laughter. It was _that _day that changed everything. Thomas and I had left to go to school, laughing and racing each other as usual. But when we got back, Mom and Dad were on the floor. They weren't breathing, and they were whiter than snow. We found out later that our parents starved so that they could feed us. They hid their hunger so well…

Their smiles and laughter distracted me from noticing how thin they were getting. They were oh so painfully thin…

Now, I look after Thomas the best I can. We gather berries, and we look for edible plants. I remember a few - Mom taught me a bit about them. And that's what we survive on. It seems unlikely that we were able to survive for so long, but we were lucky to be on the edge of the district, where the ash doesn't kill all the plants in sight. There's a field next to us where there are lots of wild plants and an old well at the end.

I shake my head, feeling a tear spring to my eyes. This isn't me. I need to be strong for Thomas. Plus, I still have some pranks to play. I always reserve the best for reaping day!

A smile swiftly works itself onto my face as I run up to the house to gather my materials. My first stop down the street is the Head Peacekeepers' house. As usual, his window is open. I shake my head, letting a small chuckle escape from my lips. He never learns. Oh well.

I reach up to his windowsill, where I can see a steaming pie. The Head Peacekeeper always leaves his pies to cool down on his windowsill, because they're always too hot. You'd have thought that he'd realise that every time he puts his pie out on the sill, it gets swapped for a burnt pie.

See, I go to the bakery quite often to ask for any burnt things, and the baker always seems to have some kind of sympathy for me, and "accidentally" burns some things. I tend to check that he's available first though, because his wife gets really angry. I kinda feel sorry for them. After all, their son, Peeta, died in the The Quarter Quell a few years back. I remember his cakes in the window. They looked really nice, but I never got to have one.

I reach up to the pie, snatch it, and I swap it for the burnt one. I run off, putting the steaming pie in my bag. Hopefully, it won't get too squashed.

My next appointment was with the two Peacekeepers that yelled at Thomas a couple of days back. I wasn't there, and Thomas didn't really want to talk about it.

I did however, get their names. I asked around, and found out where they lived. This prank is simple, but it's a personal favourite. I run to their street, and find their houses. Unfortunately, they don't live opposite each other, but I am lucky enough to see that they are at diagonals. Taking a length of rope from my tattered bag, I tie the rough material around the door handle of each house. I speed from one door to another, and knock a few times before jogging around to the next street. I soon hear angry shouts and yells. I can also hear a far off roar in the distance. That is probably the Head Peacekeeper.

My final stop is a man's house. He's always rude to Thomas and me as we pass him on our way to school, but he always sleeps in until the evening. He always gets in trouble for not going to the reapings. I walk over to the front door, and I stick lines and lines of vine across the doorway. It's tricky, but there are posts around the door that I can use to wind my vines around. We can't really get string in our District, but plant vines stained by ash work just as well. There's a little wood near the fence of our District, and there's loads of vines there. I've always thought about climbing over the fence or digging a hole under it to get to the forest, but I'm worried that I might get lost out there.

I finish my work, and then bring out my pot of honey with a wooden stick. This honey took me a long time to get. I managed to gather some from a beehive, but they stung me. The trade was very lucky. I try to only use a little bit of honey as I spread it across the vines. That man will have quite the sticky surprise. I chuckle at my antics, and I rush home, hoping to get there before Thomas returns.

It's the same house we've always lived in; a small wooden home, with the smell of dust motes and summer heat. I walk in, and set the pie and the bag on the rickety table. I creak open the cupboard, brush aside a rat or two, and get some stale bread out. I put it on the table, and I break the pie into two pieces. The warm sweet scent of cranberry fills my nose. He had one of these last week. Cranberries taste lovely, and they're Thomas' favourite. Speaking of Thomas, he runs in, panting, and with a smile on his face.

"Hi!" he says breathlessly.

"Hey Thomas," I reply.

"What's that smell?" Thomas says, sniffing eagerly.

I chuckle at his action and gesture to the table.

"The Head Peacekeeper had another cranberry pie this morning," I tell him. "We'll need to save some of it for tonight, and we'll have to gather more berries this afternoon."

Thomas' smile falls a little at the reminder of this afternoon. He knows full well that the reapings lie before it. However, he soon brightens up again once he remembers the pie on the table. We dig into our meal of bread, honey, and pie, the sounds of eating permeating the silence in our house.

We finish off the rest of the bread, and I take the other half of the pie and store it in the cupboard. Hopefully, we'll both survive the reapings to come back to finish it off.

"Let's get ready then." I decide aloud, and Thomas hurries up to his room to get changed. I walk up to my own room, rooting through the chest that holds my clothes. There's not much in terms of decent clothing, but I pick out a murky grey shirt and some slightly damaged trousers. They'll have to do for now.

I look out the window to see that people are flocking to the town square. We'll be late if we don't hurry. I check my appearance in the cracked mirror.

My tanned skin brings out my olive eyes, but they shine with the panic and worry that comes with the reapings. My hair is a let down; a misshaped menagerie of crazed blond strands, dirtied by the ash in the air. There are dirt marks on my face too, but I don't have time to worry about my appearance. Being late to the reapings is never a good thing.

I wait a little while longer for Thomas before we are out in the afternoon sun and off to the reapings. Thomas holds my hand tightly. I can tell he's nervous, because I can feel the tremors of his hand on mine. But what can I say? I love Thomas more than anything in the world. He's the only thing I have left. But how can I tell him that everything will be alright? I can't lie to him, because it's obvious that it's not OK. Everyone is scared. We're all in danger.

We quickly sign in, and I give Thomas a strong hug. I can't lose him.

"I'll see you soon, OK?" I tell him, but he can only furiously nod, trying to calm his nerves.

I walk to the fifteen-year-old section, and I wait for the escort to arrive. He comes up to the stage slowly, as if every step is practiced. His hair is slicked back; not a hair out of place, and his green eyes seem more deadly than poison. He gives us all a small smirk before speaking into the microphone.

"Why don't we watch this little film to get us started?" he says, his voice smoother than silk, yet sharper than the taste of raw onion. He's almost patronising in his manner. The film plays, telling us about the revolution and the punishment we must face for our ancestor's crimes.

"Ladies first," the escort says. He picks a name and reads the slip. I shudder. He has a very disconcerting way of doing his job.

"Charlotte Moore," he says.

A very thin and pale girl walks to the stage, and stands there, trembling.

"Men second," the man says, and proceeds to take a slip from the boy's bowl.

I'm praying for it not to be Thomas, as the man's hand digs into the shiny bowl. The light off the glass glints at me, almost as if to say. _Too bad…_

"Luke Coloss,"

My name is read out and it echoes around the square. The breeze whistles silently around me as I take it all in. I'm going into the Hunger Games. _I'm going into the Hunger Games_. I can't believe it. Me? I've been reaped? My shock and disbelief is evident on my face as I walk up to the stage and beside the escort. Questions bombard me mercilessly. Why? I see Thomas, crying silently in the front row. He may be safe, but I'm not. I'm going into an arena to fight for my life. How am I supposed to look after Thomas?

It looks like he'll be having the pie to himself tonight.

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><p><span><strong>Charlotte Moore, District Twelve Female<strong>

Reaping day. Easily the worst day of the year. There's nothing I can do about the slips in that shimmering reaping ball. There's nothing I can control. Just luck. I've been lucky for a while now. I've managed to escape the reaping bowl four times. I'm sixteen now. Will I be able to come home from the reapings this time? There's not long until I have to go. I can hear my two brothers running around excitedly downstairs, their high-pitched voices carrying up to my room. Mom and Dad are talking downstairs, and Grandpa's paper-thin gravely voice can be heard too. There's tension in the air, like there always is on reaping day. The pressure falls heavily on my shoulders, pushing me down. Only two more years after this…

I don't look like a sixteen year old, to be honest. I'm so thin that I can feel my ribs, but when you live in the Seam, there's no one who can't. Some people have said that I look as if I can be broken if someone hugged me too hard or something. But, who else here doesn't look like a living skeleton? Everyone's eyes are sunken deep into their sockets, trying to flee from the despair they witness. Everyone's skin is ashy or dirty, stained by the coal dust that finds its way into everything. People die on the road in front of you. But what can we do? Nothing. There is nothing we can do. We are at the mercy of the Capitol after all.

I stare out of my bedroom window. I receive a few scowls and rude hand signs from some of my classmates at school. I don't have any friends, because I bet up this popular kid. It certainly didn't end well for her. The problem with me is that I have trouble controlling my anger. It just falls in front of my eyes like a veil, red with revenge and the blood of my opponent. But therein lies the problem. I don't realise how much damage I've done until it's happened. I guess you could say that I'm like a volcano. Beneath the surface, my fury boils, cooking and heating up. Then, I explode, a burst of red fury and hot embers, causing destruction like a deadly pyroclastic flow of hurt and anger. People have kind of stayed away from me since that happened. Half of my year wants me to be picked for the Hunger Games after what I did. I even heard rumours that they were going to find a way to add in slips with my name on them. I'm hoping the plan doesn't work. Before the incident, I was already a bit of a loner anyway. I'm not very good at socialising with other people, so overall, nothings really changed. Just me, myself and I.

I decide to wear a yellow dress for today's reapings. It's a lovely dress, and its bright colour reminds me of the sunflowers that Dad brings Mom when he comes back from work. It reminds me that I'm safe, and that I still have hope.  
>It's ironic that the sun is out today. I'd expect reaping day to be raining, because someone's life is about to be thrown away. Instead, the sun is out, it's rays of warmth beating down upon the world. I stand there and soak the warmth of the light into my skin. After a while, I rub my eyes and walk downstairs, checking my reflection in the mirror as I go. My grey eyes swirl nervously in coils of iron, the swirling stormy depths alive with fear and nerves. My light brown hair has been brushed, and I am ready. I just need to have lunch. Lunchtime is fairly silent. There's that feeling of dread in the room. The anticipation of what could happen seems to wash over us. Anything could happen. I could get picked. I could die in the Hunger Games arena. I eat my food silently and finish it off.<p>

"Good Luck!" my Mom tells me encouragingly, forcing a smile from the worry lines on her face. I smile back her gratefully.  
>"Thanks Mom," I say. "I'll meet you there."<br>"Bye Charlotte!" cries my two younger brothers in unison, and I flash them a smile before leaving. I don't hear Grandpa or Dad say their goodbyes, but I'm sure they did. Maybe I'm in such a hurry to get this over and done with that I wasn't listening. I hurry down to the square, breathing in the air rife with cinnamon from the bakery and ash from the mines. There's a hint of pollen there too, because we live near an overgrown field. Unfortunately, smelling these familiar scents only make me more nervous.

My dress swings wildly around my knees as I set off at a brisk walk. A few of the adults give me a sad smile, and my peers give me death glares. We all walk to the square; my yellow dress a bright spot against the whites and greys of the other children in the district. There are a few others besides me that are wearing brighter colours. There's that boy from the year below who's wearing a dark blue shirt, and that girl is wearing a red silky dress. Other than that though…everyone's just white and grey. Maybe a bit of beige here or there.

I walk to the line and sign in, letting the Peacekeeper take my hand and my blood. As I walk to the sixteen-year-old section, I squeeze my throbbing finger. Wincing, I glance up at the stage where our escort approaches the microphone. If you ask me, he's rather creepy. He's quite tall too. I hate tall people, because they scare me. They just rise over you and look down on you with their piercing eyes. They just creep me out. They almost seem as if they'll lift up their foot and crush you under it. I shiver slightly.

"Charlotte Moore," the man says in his velvety voice, and I start to tremble. I've been reaped. I'm _so_ scared. What will the Capitol look like? Will there be more tall men? How will I be killed in the arena? Mutts? The careers? My heart beats like hummingbirds' wings as I walk stiffly up to the stage. I try not to tremble in front of the cameras, but it is impossible. I see some people laugh or smile as I pass them, happy that I've been chosen. I wonder if they did actually add more slips with my name on. My parents are crying over to one side, but I look down as the boy is chosen, or I'll break down and look weak. The escort bids farewell to the district. I wonder if this will be the last time I see my home…  
>I breathe in my last breath of ashy air, remembering its smell. After all, I may never come back.<p>

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><p><strong>So, I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED THE REAPINGS! HELL YES!<strong>

**I do apologise for such a late update, but now that summer is here, I'll have more chapter coming your way, hopefully. I wish you good luck with your exams too, because I am aware that a few of you are starting them. I'm also sorry if this chapter is not up to scratch. I'm recovering, haha XD**

**Now, Luke seems a little melancholy, yet still a prankster at heart. Do you think he'll be able to open up to anyone and get some allies? Do you reckon that his prankster nature might come in useful? As for Charlotte, her anger does seem like she can cause some damage. How do you think she'll fare in the Hunger Games? Will she be able to find any new friends? **

**Thank you so much for all the reviews coming in, they are really keeping me going, and letting me know that you are paying attention. Of course, there are a few authors that have not been able to review, and I'm sorry to say that their tributes are getting more and more likely to dying, so reviewers, lucky you **

**I'll have a chapter up as soon as I can. **

**Over and Out!**

**~E.E.**


	14. All Aboard!

**Here is your new update! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far – I'm over 100 reviews XD**

**I enjoy writing this almost as much as you seem to enjoy reading it! So, the pre-games chapters are here. Let's get started! PM me with any questions.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own the arena and my surprisingly short authors note.**

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><p><span><strong>Sedan Bristol, District Six Male POV<strong>

It came as no surprise to me that no one visited me before we were brought here. My family dislike me intensely because of my attitude in life. I'm sarcastic. Cynical. Pessimistic. And what's so bad about that? There's not much hope that I can have, now that I've been dragged to this train so they can take me to my glory. I'm going into the Hunger Games, plain and simple. You can just see on my face that I am _dying_ to get into the arena and rip into some tributes. And it's already obvious that I'm _so _wonderful and unbeatable that I don't need to worry about it. I'll do "Just fine!" if you ask my mentor, Mona Johnson. She seems bland. Literally, there is no personality to her. The way she talks, what she looks like…even what she wears just reeks of neutrality. She's so helpful.  
>I'm sitting here, listening to my mentor's wonderful advice about the Hunger Games. We don't have a second mentor. We've only ever had three. During the 75th games, two of our mentors died painlessly in the arena. It must have been fun…and now I must face the same fate.<p>

Obviously, this arena is going to be a safe haven for the tributes this year. Nobody will ever be in danger, y'know? There won't be any kind of tricks orchestrated by the Gamemakers, will there? So that means that I am completely safe. Ha, I wish.

The electric doors slide open, and my District partner walks through, finally wearing something that doesn't make her look like a retarded Capitol citizen. I don't even know her name, but I really need to, because she'll be so much help in the arena. So much help. I can already tell that she's an optimist. She's got this dreamy look on her face. She'll live long. Anyone can see that.

"Hey!" she squeals, smiling brightly at Mona and me.

"Hello child," Mona says boredly. She cares for us so much that she doesn't know our names. Calling us a child seems rather demeaning. Well, for me, not for the girl.

The girl shrugs at the reply, and walks over to the food bar, where she picks up a plate and starts putting food onto it. I have to admit, the food is amazing. Lamb stew, blue cheese sauce, stuffed turkey with cranberry sauce, roasted croutons…

I've never heard of such combinations. Seriously, I haven't. I flex my arms, rewarding myself with the wonderful feeling of pins and needles. I haven't moved from this spot since we left our District. Mona cornered me, and started talking about how to look good for the Capitol. And his voice totally keeps me awake.

"I'm going to go and look at how exquisite my room is." I announce, interrupting Mona's drone. She scowls at me, and I narrow my eyes at her before walking off. I decide to find my room, knowing that it must be so tacky, and that it wouldn't be comfortable at all. I opened the smooth wooden door, to a calming compartment of paradise. Over on one side, there is a bed, complete with a squashy mattress and soft plump pillows. Both the pillows and duvet are a deep oceanic blue. On the opposite side of the room is a large varnished wardrobe, complete with ordinate carvings and an unbelievable amount of clothes. I don't think I've something so…posh. Unless of course, you count the dining car. There is a blue velvet sofa next to the train window, complete with matching curtains, already pleated and drawn. Outside, the world whizzes by in a green blur. I check in the en suite bathroom to find an interesting looking shower, with a multitude of buttons that I'm so not going to get confused over. There's also a full-length mirror, complete with a sink and toilet. I walk out and sit down, sinking into the fabrics of the sofa beneath me. I almost feel as if I'm being dragged down into it, drowning in the swathes of material. I take a better look around the room. Well, no one is starving for this room to exist are they? Nobody is poor enough to fantasise over the room I'm in right now. But it's still nice.

"Sedan?" the girl calls suddenly from outside the door. How does she know my name? Then it clicks. The reapings. I rack my brain for the girls name before answering. Zest, wasn't it?

"Zest?" I call back. "What do you want?"

"The reapings are on TV," She replied cheerily, seemingly happy that I know her name. "Mona wants you to come and watch them with us, so that we can analyse our competition!"

I roll my eyes.

"I'm _so_ looking forward to that…" I mutter, before raising my voice. "I'll be there in a minute!"

As Zest's footsteps recede down the hallway of the train, I stand up and sigh. With the competition in front of me, it's going to make _such _a difference. Time to enjoy this time-wasting event. I walk out of my room and down the hallway, finding my way to Zest and Mona. The train is a state of the art, mechanised heaven. Crystal chandeliers shimmer from over my head, and the carpet looks to be almost as smooth as silk. All you have to do is press a button on a machine, and it gives you a hot drink of some sort. One drink is a dark brown, another is almost black, and one is a light green. It soon realise that the light green one must be some kind of mint drink. I decide to find Zest and Mona. I've killed fifteen minutes. They'll be happy.

"You ready?" chirps Zest as I walk in, still cheery. Mona glares at me from across the room, but I ignore it. I nod, and she turns on the screen in front of her.

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><p><span><strong>Kleska Giori, District Two Female POV<strong>

The world flies by the window of the train as we speed along. I catch the blurred shapes of trees and grass, and even the odd empty field every now and again. But other than that, there's nothing really entertaining to see. There's plenty to listen to though. Our escort still seems to decide that shouting is appropriate at any given moment, and he's really pissing me off. He keeps on shouting random nonsense about how we have to be the best tributes ever, and intimidate the others, blah, blah, blah. I mean, I already know! I can easily beat the other tributes in a fight, and I haven't even seen them yet. District Two has always had the most victors, and we still do. And looking at my competition, victory is not going to be too much of a problem.

Steven Krane. That is the name of the boy tribute sitting opposite me. He seems like a weak career, and yet, he volunteered before Bruticus did…why? The more I wonder about this guy's intentions, the more I can't figure him out. Why would he volunteer in the place of Bruticus? Glory? Fame? Riches? Well, either way, I have to remember that he's no weakling. District Two or not, he volunteered, and he seems like he wants to be here. He's no scrawny kid either. I reckon I could take him down pretty nicely though. Still though, he hasn't spoken a word to me, which strikes me as odd. Career tributes always team up together to become a team, where we hunt the weaker tributes before turning on each other. That's an age-old rule. A rule I plan to break.

Right now however, Steven doesn't look like he's in the mood to make any friends whatsoever. Truthfully, who would with our asshole of an escort shouting all the time?

"Silence, Gauze!" a voice rings out angrily, and the muscular escort stops yelling and shouting. A woman works her way into our view, her hair curled but lifted up into a loose bun. Her eyes are a piercing and icy blue, and she wears a long silvery dress. If anything, this woman reminds me of the Greek goddess Athena.

"Now that's done," Athena mutters haughtily, before addressing us directly. "Well, it looks like we have some interesting tributes this year."

The way this woman says her words makes me angry. She speaks to me as if I'm a weakling, a child. She almost sounds sarcastic. I can't help but to reply.

"I think we're made for victory, Princess," I retort, narrowing my eyes a little at Athena. Athena raises her eyebrows, but smirks.

"It seems we have a feisty one here," she comments. "But what can you really do? There's not a curve in sight on your body, and you're as small as a munchkin. Sponsors will be difficult for you, my dear. Come now, we can talk more later. We have tributes to analyse. If you are going to win, you'll be needing a lot of our help."

I don't understand what she means by "munchkin", but I hate my flaws being revealed to me. As Athena turns away, I pick up the cheese knife from the table and launch it at her, letting the knife slice past her nose and into the doorframe. Athena stands there for a moment or two, before turning back. I stand there, enraged at this bitch, while she looks me up and down.

"Most impressive," she says, sounding the complete opposite. Her face is blank and unreadable. "I've had enough of playing around. Let's go and meet Kian, another of the mentors who will be watching over you this year."

"Wait!" Steven says. His voice rings through the cart, determined and strong. "What's your name?"

He hasn't said a word since the reapings, so it was a bit strange to hear his voice, especially after an hour or so of Gauze yelling and announcing things. He became white noise pretty quickly. Athena looks back at Steven, and I lean in, interested a little. I just dubbed the lady as Athena, not bothering to learn her name, but I guess I just want to know her name. Athena sounds superior; as if she's above me, when really, she's not.

"My name is Helena," the mentor replied. "Now, come along."

She leaves, and our escort, Gauze, follows her. Steven also follows, not giving me a single glance as he walks through into the next room. The room is a living room, with lush black leather sofas with a cream carpet and chocolate walls. Fluffy cushions are placed neatly on the sofas, which are arranged around a large flat screen TV. Sitting in the middle of one of the sofas, is a thin man of about twenty years of age, with messy brown hair and blue eyes. 'Kian' sounded like it belonged to a much more muscular man, but it seems not. I'm surprised he actually won his games. I could easily take him down in a fight.

"I'm Kian, what're your names?" the man says. He speaks very quickly and demandingly, but both of us answer anyway.

"Kleska," I say, and Steven replies with his own name as well. Kian nods.

"Well, without further ado, we'll analyse your competition this year."

He turns on the TV, and the recap of the reapings start. The interviewer is Dallas Cornwall, who took over from Caesar Flickerman after he was thought to be a part of the rebellion. The problem is with Dallas, is that you don't really know if he's a man or a woman. He confirmed that he was male, but there's still that edge of femininity to him. I don't particularly care though. The competition is more important.

District One's tributes look fairly menacing, but the boy seems more of a brute compared to the girl. Both will probably be working with me in the career pack. Then it's us. I look as confident as ever, walking boldly up to the stage, and Steven volunteers before Bruticus. District Three is a direct contrast. The boy looks so weak, sobbing all over the place. The girls a bit more spunky though. What is that pose? She looks like an idiot. District Four's tributes appear to know each other. The boy volunteers and the girl is reaped, but both of them look strong, so they might come into the career pack. District Five is a mix. The girls a goner, but the boy looks like a threat. The pair from Six look like something I can handle, but I'd better keep an eye on the boy, just in case. District Seven aren't of much interest to me, and neither are District Eight. District Nine, the girl is easy, and the boy seems mysterious. District Ten…a disabled boy with a shrivelled arm, and a moody looking girl. They look like a bit of trouble, but not much. The pair from Eleven are weaklings, yet they seem interesting. The girl looks innocent and weak, yet she seems confident. The boy just shuffles up. He's small, but he looks cunning. And as usual, the pair from Twelve don't look like too much of a problem. It seems like we have a good set of tributes this year. Other than the careers and the boys from Five and Six, most of the tributes seem to lack strength. They'll be no match for me. I'll cut all of them down with my knives. I smirk a bit, and we are dismissed so that we can "think about the tributes". Steven and I go our separate ways; him to his room, and I back to my seat by the window. Instead of thinking about the other tributes, my mind drifts to Mom, Lydy and Al. They were sad to see me go, but Mom told me that she was proud of me, and that's all that matters. I wonder if they've found my message in the tree trunk yet. The reapings seemed so long ago, even though it's only been a few hours. Even laughing at that orphan boy seems like it was year's back. In fact, I feel kind of guilty for laughing at him. How it must feel to be alone with no family…

And what if my family lose me? How will they cope? Sighing, I practice throwing knives at the doorframe. I have to focus on winning. Any distractions could result in a fatal mistake. I reassure myself quickly. I'm one of the best tributes out there. I can win. I just need to make sure that everything goes to plan. Join the careers, and kill everyone. Easy. I just hope it'll be as easy as I say it will be.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Florescent Neista, District Five Female POV<strong>

Our mentor, Nate Scourlion, turns off the big screen on the other side of the room. He says it's called a telly-vision, but for short we call it a TV. Some of the other people on the screen look very big and scary. Some of the others were crying, and I felt sad, because I wanted them to be happy. I don't get it though. Why is everyone so sad? What's so bad about those bowls?

I stare blankly back at Nate, as he regards me worriedly.

"What?" I ask, confused.

Opposite me, the strong guy with the white hair that Carmen talks about, shifts uncomfortably. His eyes stared at me in sorrow, as if to feel sorry for me.

"Why am I here?" I ask into the silence of the room. Two pairs of eyes look at me, staring at me. It's a little bit creepy actually.

"Do you really not know?" Nate asks, looking visibly shocked.

"No," I reply simply.

Nate rubs the back of his neck and makes a face.

"You're going into the Hunger Games," he said gently.

"Really?" I ask, excited. "Will I be able to win food prizes for Mommy and Daddy?"

The Boy with White Hair as I'm calling him now, gets up and leaves the room, shaking his head.

"No, your prize…is…your life." Nate explained.

"I don't get it," I say slowly.

"The Hunger Games is an event when twenty-four children are placed in an arena to fight to the death. Two children from each District, called tributes, are chosen to go into the arena, with the hopes of coming out alive. The victor wins luxuries for their district, such as better food and materials."

"So, people kill each other?" I say, raising my eyebrows. "That's just rude."

"That's how the Hunger Games works," Nate says. "And I'm sorry, but you're going into the arena."

"So…people are gonna try to kill me?" I question. Nate nodded. My heart sinks. So…I might die? I don't get it. Why haven't I been told about the Hunger Games before? Unless…Mommy…and Daddy. They tried to keep it hidden from me, didn't they? They were trying to protect me from the horrible stuff that happens in the Hunger Games. They didn't want me to watch people kill other people. And now I know…

I reach up to touch the headband that Mommy and Daddy gave me before I left. It's white and it has a pink flower on it. It's the only thing I have from home, and touching it instantly calms me down. For a second or two, I can almost feel Mommy and Daddy beside me, telling me that it's alright. It'll be OK. I won't die. People won't hurt little girls like me.

"OK then," I say, getting back to the topic. "Where are we going, and what will the ah-ree-na look like?"

Nate sighs sadly, already knowing that my knowledge of the Hunger Games is limited.

"We're going to the Capitol, the main city of Panem," Nate tells me. "This is the place where you'll be dressed up to look pretty for the world to see. Then you have to train with weapons, so that you can defend yourself. Finally, you go into the arena and you have to kill everyone so that you can go back home."

"B-but…I don't wanna kill people," I say.

"I'm sorry my dear," Nate says. "But that is what you must do. I wish it was different but those are the rules. The least I can do is help you."

The tears start to fall. I don't wanna kill. I don't wanna die either. It's scary. All of the big tributes are gonna kill me. I wipe some tears away.

"How?" I ask, sobbing a little.

Nate pats my back and hands me a tissue, but it does little to stem the flow of tears.

"I've won the Hunger Games," he says. "So, I know how you can try and win."

I look up to him; hope flooding my face like a sun shining through the clouds after a thunderstorm.

"You do?" I ask.

Nate nods and smiles encouragingly.

"Tell me everything you know. Please," I sniffle, rubbing my eyes and calming myself down.

Nate nods his head, and starts to tell me everything. Both of us know that without the knowledge of the Hunger Games, I will be dead for sure.

* * *

><p><strong>So, there you go. The train rides are over. My plan is: Three tributes on each of the events of the pre-games chapters, so…Train Rides, Chariots and the Capitol, Training Days One, Two and Three, Private Sessions, Scores, Interviews, and The Night Before The Games. Of course in one of these chapters, we will re-meet our Head Gamemaker, Luca Fawkes, and he has had a bit of a rude awakening if you remember the first chapter. More on that later though.<strong>

**Sedan and Florescent are less developed than Kleska, because their forms were shorter, so that is my explanation. By the way, Koala of Doom, this is addressed directly to you. I apologise in advance for struggling to write Sedan. I do not understand sarcasm at all. If someone was sarcastic, then I'd have trouble knowing if it was or not. My ultimate weakness in writing is sarcasm, because I have to make it really obvious – so obvious that your character sounds like an ass, so yes, sorry about that, haha :/**

**Anyway, I'm babbling. So, Sedan seems like he's given up all hope. Do you think he'll be able to pick his motivation back up? And Kleska's remembrance of her family and her face off with Helena. What did you think of that? And as for Florescent, now that she actually knows what's happening, so you think she can try to survive? Also, do you have any favourite tributes out of the twenty-four so far?**

**I hope to update soon my wonderful reviewers and readers! Thank you so much**

**Over and Out!**

**~E.E.**


	15. Image Is Everything

**I'm back again, and I'm in shame. I didn't update…**

**I literally have no excuse. I have recently been obsessed with completing Kingdom Hearts, and I put off doing a chapter. I really shouldn't have. BUT I'M SO CLOSE TO FREAKING COMPLETING IT! It's bugging me! **

**Anyway, how have you all been? Have exams/work/life been going well? Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, especially to Starry Infinities, and The Koala Of Doom who had very long reviews discussing their tributes (which I love to read). **

**I'm just going to say one more thing: Welcome to the Capitol. XD**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own my arena!**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Rachelle McKenzie, District Three Female POV<span>**

I stand here, waiting for my stylist. After being waxed, rubbed, and plucked like a hen, I can easily say that I resemble a raw chicken. Trust me though, the Capitol aren't cooking me. I don't taste very nice.

I'm rather bored standing here. There's not much to do. I've been told that I have to stand here naked while the stylist walks around me. Seriously? And why should I be doing that? I don't want some Capitol wierdo looking at me like a perv. Nuh-uh, no way.

I spend the next five minutes thinking about how vast the Capitol is. I remember when the train doors slid open; I was ushered out with Franz, the boy from my District. I struck my usual sassy pose, showing off in front of the cameras, and waving at people. The Capitol people were screaming at me, calling my name. It was almost as if they were worshipping me. I find them quite adorable really. They're dressed up in all of these bright colours, and they seem so happy. However, I don't see how they can be so ignorant about the Hunger Games. Um, hello? People die! People's blood is spilt on screen, in front of you, your children, your elders…

Why do they not think it's disgusting?

The silver door in front of me opens smoothly with a faint _hiss_. The hiss almost reminds me of the sounds Kailie makes when she sleeps. She makes these hissing sounds, like tiny little snakes, as if they've just broken free from their eggs, reaching out and exploring the world around them. Kailie is a lot like that. She's growing, blooming like a flower does when the springtime comes. I wonder how she feels right now. She certainly won't be exploring, that's for sure. I know she misses me, and I feel bad for abandoning her at the reapings. Maybe I should have cherished that last moment with her. She never managed to see me in the Justice Building. Jamie and his wife wouldn't have let her. They probably have an excuse, with the baby and all, stupid assholes. Just thinking about them makes me want to scream.

Instead, I focus on my stylist. He's a fairly short man, but quite thin, with zigzagging glasses almost as sassy as I am. His eyes have been altered to shine indigo, and he's wearing a matching suit with a yellow pocket square. His face is lined, and I can see that he's tried to put on some kind of age concealing make-up. Too bad for him. That make-up just doesn't cut it. His skin is a little saggy and spotted with age in places, and his thin, wispy hair has been dyed indigo to match his suit. Fancy, but not flashy enough. I wonder what he'll make me?

"Drop the robe, please. I need to see what I can work with here." He states in a nasally voice.

Surprised at myself, I drop my robe in obedience as he walks around me, inspecting my body. Maybe it's his appearance that throws me off. After all, it's not every day when you see an old man with indigo-everything. He pokes my bony shoulder, and I hiss at him in pain.

"Um hello?" I tell him, my voice ringing with attitude. "My body, my rules. No touchie."

Surprisingly, the old man complies, and nods.

"Your skin is raw," he tells me. "I will make sure to tell your prep team to be more gentle when they set you back to Beauty Base Zero after the Games have ended."

I feel unnaturally polite as he walks out the room, and I utter two words that I rarely ever use.

"Thank you."

His words have left me so stunned, that that is all I can say. He has confidence in me? To win? To put on a good show? Well, it's a confidence booster I guess. Damn right it is.

I stand there and wait for him. I think he's off to get my costume for the Games, so I just wait for his inevitable return. I'm at loss of what to do really. I can't be sassy, because there's no one here to be sassy to. My mind drifts to the Games, like a lost boat in a river, taken away by the current. My odds are obviously very low, but I'm pretty sure my sass can throw off the tributes a little bit. Judging by what I've seen, there are certainly a lot of dangerous tributes this year. I won't have to worry though, because I'm a minor threat. All the dangerous tributes will be too focussed on taking each other out to bother about someone like me until the end. I have to figure out some sort of plan. Maybe pick them off one by one? It sounds like the right way to go. I'd have to be stealthy so they won't know what's hit them. I'll hit them over the head, and hell will they go down. They'll topple like bottles on a wall for all I care. Damn right they will.

The second thing I consider are my allies. I'll need allies for sure, but I need to tone down on the sass, or they'll be overwhelmed by it. If I'm not careful, being sassy towards people could surely paint a target on my back. But I can't help but to _be _sassy. It's embedded within me, conjoined with my very soul.

The silver doors slide open once more, and my stylist brings out his masterpiece. My face quickly transforms from casual to horrified as he pulls the zip down, and shows me my chariot costume.

"You want me to wear that?" I cry. "Oh hell no! You get yo' ass outta here, and get me the real costume I'm wearing."

"Rachelle," my stylist tells me, regarding me with seriousness. "This _is _the real costume you're wearing."

My chances of winning just got 100% harder.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Shaune Greyson, District Five Male POV<strong>

We're brought down to the area where the chariots are set out. Tributes are standing around and talking to their mentors, asking about how they should stand and how they should look as they ride on in front of the rainbow that is the Capitol crowd. I've been trying to focus on that, yet one thought persists in my mind. Jonathan. He's probably hiding in his room at home, desperately trying to conceal the bruises from others or crying with every lash my Father gives him. I can almost imagine the tears leak from the corners of his eyes, glistening with the agony of each strike; red welts burning like flames and licking his skin, blood sliding down his face, mixing with the sweat and the tears and the _fear_. The fear of being hurt by my Father. How long must he survive for me to get back to him? A week? Two? Three? Yet, I'm scared. I'm worried that the Games are already getting to me, twisting my mind into dual realities. How can I get home if I can't think straight? And why can't I think straight? Because right in front of me is an almost identical replica of Jonathan. He's from District Three, apparently, with the same emerald green eyes and blond hair. The only difference between the two is that Jonathan is not as pale as this boy, and maybe slightly taller. Barely a difference really. Judging by the kid's size, he must be twelve or thirteen…the same age as Jonathan. However, I must make sure not to look at him for too long, or it might make me seem a little creepy. I'm getting this strong urge to ally with the boy as soon as I can. He seems so defenceless…

I curse myself on my feelings of protectiveness for the boy. I need to remember why I'm here! I can't protect those that are innocent, those who must die in the Bloodbath. That boy _is_ a Bloodbath. I mean, look at him. He's small and thin, most likely unable to pick up a weapon, and probably highly unlikely to kill anyone, let alone survive the first five minutes of the Games. So why do I feel like protecting him? Is it because he looks so much like Jonathan that it makes me feel inclined to become his shield? I tell myself _yet again _that Jonathan is back home, not here. I tear my eyes away, clearing my mind of the thoughts of my brother. I can't afford to think like this, or I'll be driven mad.

I decide to size up the other tributes. I might as well get a better look at them. The career group seems to be a lot more fractured this year. The two from District One, and the Girl from Two seem to be getting along fine, laughing away at how easy this must be for them all. They've trained for so many years, yet I have to laugh at how they don't always win. That teaches you something, doesn't it? Even years of training can't give you a victory. Still though, career tributes win half the time, so they've got a pretty good chance at the moment.

I take a look at the other careers. The Boy from Two seems fairly mysterious, and he's also checking out the other tributes. He seems to be standing apart from the group, not wanting to talk to them. I wonder what that's about. His eyes meet mine for a second, before they flit away again. The pair from Four seem to be keeping to themselves. They're standing nearer to the careers, but they're not really talking to them. In fact, they seem to be talking about something personal, judging by the looks on their faces.

On my other side, the Boy from Six looks around blankly, and the girl is wearing a wide smile as she listens to the roaring crowd outside. The pair from Seven seem to be talking to each other slightly awkwardly. The girl looks quite pretty to be honest, and I'm surprised to be struck by that fact. I don't usually find anyone interesting, but this girl seems prettier than most, and she looks a lot more determined as well. The rest of the tributes appear to be talking to their mentors about strategies and other things. Speaking of mentors, Nate walks over to me, followed closely by Florescent. I feel sorry for this girl. Before the reapings, she didn't even know what the Hunger Games were. It must have been hard for Nate to break it to her. Even now, I can see the haunting shadows in the young girls eyes, as if she has been scarred by what she's been told. Well, anyone would if they were told that they would probably die within the next couple of weeks.

I sigh and look over my outfit. Seen as District Five's outfit is based on Power, my stylist decided that we'd go for "sparking" the memory of the crowd by using electricity and lightning effects. I'm actually grateful for the idea, because it will certainly add to our sponsors. After all, you don't see tributes surrounded by lightning every year, do you?

"It's time to go!" trills our escort, Ellie Porsetelli, rolling around on her roller-skates as usual. "And you two look absolutely fantabulous!"

"That's not even a word." I tell her, frowning, but I get up onto the chariot, helping Florescent up as well.

"I don't understand…" she keeps whispering. "Why are we dressed like this?"

I feel saddened for the girl, but for once I decide to answer her, purely out of pity.

"We have to get sponsors," I explain. "If you look pretty enough, then they give you gifts in the arena."

Florescent nods, absorbing this. The girl's mind must be racing so much that I'm worried that she might collapse. She's not stupid though, just extremely misinformed. Whose parents would never tell their child about the Hunger Games? You might as well deal with the truth than not know it at all.

I sigh, preparing myself for the chariot ride as Dallas Cornwall starts to speak, and the crowd starts to scream their approval in the stands outside.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Skyla Truce, District Ten Female POV<span>**

I stand on my chariot moodily, looking at my OUTRAGEOUS costume. I mean seriously? I'm dressed as a cow. I scan over my appearance, trying to stem my annoyance at the fact that my chariot costume was probably worn by last year's tribute. After all, they have this costume pretty much every year.

For the past couple of days on the train, I've been fairly calm. Nothing really got me moody. I was free from being a slave for Mom and my family, saved in a way from her nagging tones. I have to do everything for her, and now I'm gone, I wonder what she'll do. Who will she pile the jobs on now, huh? Not me.

I've been relaxing on the train. I was pretty much in heaven, unless you count the fact that I knew that I was being sent into the Hunger Games. Still, I reckon I could get home with a little weapons practice. Then I could have a house in the Victor's Village! But no way is Mom living in that house with me. Sure, I'll give my family money and enough to eat, but I'm staying in my house by myself. I don't need Mom and Dad yelling at me 24/7.

"Right!" Dina tells us cheerily, breaking me from my train of thought and rhyming as usual. "Make sure you get this right. Shoulders back, smiles on, then we'll be sure that nothing goes wrong."  
>Rolling my eyes, I step up onto the chariot, followed by Kip, my District partner.<p>

Kip and I haven't really spoken during our time on the train, but there seems to be an air of mutual respect between us. I guess that's because we're from the same District, and anything from home is home, right?

I focus my mind on more important matters, and fidget as the first chariot starts to roll out into the flashing lights and whirring cameras possessed by the crowd. District One goes first, looking like actual jewels, glinting and sparkling, reflecting and refracting rays of light in erratic lines and blinding splashes. District Two follows them closely, looking like soldiers, dressed up for battle. Their armour is thick and glossy, shining a little. The armour has been manipulated to make it seem as if the small girl and lightly muscled boy are stronger than they actually are. I almost get the urge to laugh, because they almost look fat. Nonetheless, the Capitolites are loving them.

District Three are the next to roll forward, and I feel immensely sorry for them. Why? Because they are dressed up as light bulbs. I mean, really? That's almost as rubbish as our costumes. Oh no, wait! The light bulbs light up. Yep, still crap.

District Four comes out with an interesting chariot. It's an underwater scene, obviously showing off the boy's muscles and the girl's beauty by having them skimpily dressed. They're waving enthusiastically, as the sounds of roaring waves can be heard from underlying speakers. Bubbles are also blown, swirling around the chariot in a distorted tornado of floating spheres.

District Five are also very interesting, with the tributes dressed up in power plant uniforms. However, electricity seems to arc up and over both of them and their metallic looking chariot. The girl is jumping up and down, waving delightedly at the crowd. The boy just waves awkwardly, almost emotionless.

District Six's chariot comes in a tad late, because the horses are pulling it with difficulty. My eyebrows rise up in surprise, when I realise that their chariot has no wheels, and that it's flying. It's a hovercraft!

District Seven are dressed more interestingly this year. The boys suit and the girls dress seems to have been weaved out of all kind of leaves from a multitude of different trees and plants. Some of them I don't even recognise. There are also fans around the chariot, which sends tons of artificial leaves up into the air, tumbling over and over into the crowd, head over heels.

District Eight are also making an appearance, their suits covered in splashes of different coloured dyes; including their skin. They look interesting, and the cameras click faster.

District Nine have it unlucky, because they come out dressed as ears of maize in an inflatable cornfield. You can barely even see them. I wonder who comes up with this stuff. Maybe they need to be replaced.

Finally, I'm almost knocked off my feet as our chariot lurches forward. My hand clamps onto the side as we ride along, but I'm not scared, just steadying myself so I don't fall over. I stare furiously into the crowd, trying to burn them to ashes with my eyes. I stare so hard that my eyes start to water.

We eventually pull to a stop after we've extensively accepted blood-red roses and kisses of adoration from our audience. I feel strangely loved, as the people reach out to me. They want to love me, to be proud of my own achievements…even though I have none. It's almost as if they expect me to win the Games in a blink of an eye. It's very…inspiring.

President Snow silences the crowd, and reads a speech. I regard the man coldly, ignoring his words. This is the man that has caused me to lead this life. This is the reason why I'll be forced to fight to the death. I almost wish that he was on a poster or something. That way, I'd be able to tear him down, stamp on him and have a tantrum over what he's put Panem through. I want to hear every tear, every rip, and every blemish that lands on this imaginary poster of mine. Unfortunately, this is the real deal in front of me. I can see that he's old, and I'm hoping the asshole would just die already. He's killed so many without a care. I almost wish that I could kill him myself, or at least send my fist into his drooping, wrinkled face, which hangs loosely as if he's a half melted wax model. Oh how I wish.

I glance around at Eleven and Twelve's chariots. District Eleven are dressed in their usual work overalls, but their clothes are weaved together using reeds. They're holding empty wicker baskets. They must have thrown something into the crowd.

District Twelve seems to have gone with the whole light idea, having their chariot made entirely out of miner's helmets with the lights on. In a way, they're almost like beacons or spotlights, rolling around in their helmets and pausing in a spot for a second or two, before changing their minds and illuminating another area of the pulsing stands around me. The President finishes off his boring speech, and we are dismissed. I sigh with relief as I get off the chariot, but I know that from now onwards, the Games really begin. No more sitting around. It's time to step up to the challenge of the Games. They want a Game? Then I'll play it. And if I play it just right, then I'll be on the train home before you can say "Bloodbath".

* * *

><p><strong>*Breathes heavily* I'm done…with…the…chariots. It's time to up the drama bit when the tributes get to interact a bit more in the training centre! I can't wait for that one, due to our…interesting tributes. I'm not promising comedy, but I'm hoping that something funny will come up at some point during the training days. ;D<strong>

**What did you think of the attitude of these tributes? Rachelle seems to be a bit softer in this chapter. Maybe she's dwelling too much on the Games? Shaune is certainly having trouble with his mindset at the moment. Do you think he'll get over the fact that Franz looks like Jonathan, or will he just spiral into madness? And Skyla, a feisty one isn't she? Do you think she can get any allies, despite her moodiness?**

**I saw The Fault In Our Stars! ;-; Please don't ask, okay?**

**I will update when I can, and if there are any errors, please tell me via PM or review.**

**Over and Out!  
>~Mental (Do you like the new nickname? XD)<strong>


	16. Deadly Tools

**A MONTH! I should be ashamed of myself. Load the cannons and shoot me down!**

**Thanks to 212degrees, Mayasha-chan, Wendy Hamlet, The Koala Of Doom and Starry Infinities for reviewing **

**I'm adding in more POV's in training for more character development, work on alliances, and also to make the characters interact a bit more. Then it will be back to normal for sessions, scores, interviews, and beyond. **

**WARNINGS: Taser's POV. I don't really know what to call it, but I guess it's a tad dark? Just watch out for it **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have made, and my ridiculously long authors notes.**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Adelaide "Addie" Plum, Twelve years old, District Nine Female POV<strong>

"_It's training, training dayyyyy!_" I sing, as I spin out of my room and skip down the corridor, contentedly humming away without a care in the world. My performance last night surely stole the show, and I looked sooo pretty! The Capitol people are really nice as well. Plus there are waiters – so cool! They serve you food, but they don't say a word. How strange! I asked one of them why they were quiet, but they walked away quickly. Oh well. We gather at the breakfast table, Derek and I. He's ever so silent and mysterious. He's barely even said a word since we got here. I marvel at his appearance. His scars are like wrinkles, except they are marbled and shine white. I wonder…do all people who work in the fields look like this?

"So. Training." Barli Stalk says bluntly. He's our mentor, but he always stinks of this weird drink he calls 'Whiskey'. I don't know what that is, but it sounds fancy!

"I can't wait!" I squeal. "This should be so fun, making new friends and learning to use weapons!"

"…Yes. I suppose it will be fun." My mentor replies, raising his eyebrows at my enthusiasm. "Which is why you need to find yourselves some allies, and focus on certain areas. Addie, I want you to focus on using weapons like a knife or a slingshot, okay?"  
>"You got it!" I cheer, clapping wildly. "And I'll find a strong ally too!"<p>

Barli nods once, and turns to Derek.

"Derek, I want you to hide your skills and save it until the training session. Instead work on a new weapon, and don't leave out the survival stations either."

"Okay." Derek replies quietly, the scars on his hands stretching as he closes his hand around the butter knife.

I think over what allies I could go for, but none really stick in my mind. I guess I'll have to wait and see who'll pick me. Someone is bound to let me tag along! Plus, I'm not _that _bad. I'm small, sneaky, and as the mayor's daughter, people are bound to sponsor me. I'm great at winning over people, and winning over allies should be just as easy. I cast my mind back to Mommy and Daddy back home. I can't wait to get back to them. They have to know that I'm a big girl now: especially when I've won the Hunger Games. And I'll probably get a big house all to myself, and I can buy marshmallows everyday. I really want to win this…well, I guess everyone does, but no one will want to hurt a little girl like me. I'm too cute to kill. I remember when Daddy came into the Justice Building to say goodbye to me. He told me that I could win as long as I find a good ally or two. Someone out there has to like me, and I'm going to prove it! I spring up from my seat, having finished my breakfast.

"Are we ready?" I say cheerfully. "Let's get started!"

* * *

><p><span><strong>David Peterson, Seventeen years old, District Seven Male POV<strong>

Karina and I are standing in the elevator, waiting together on our way down to the training centre. We were talking yesterday about how ridiculous some of the other tributes looked in their chariot costumes. It was mostly Karina talking, because I'm shy around people, especially girls. Still though, I feel like we have some kind of a connection between each other. We locked eyes in the alleyway back in District Seven, we were both reaped, and now we're friends. Well, I hope we're friends anyway.

It's the first day of training today, and I'm hoping to get some allies and learn some new things. I'm planning on trying out survival skills first, because I know that my memory will serve me well, and people might want me for an ally if they see that I'm useful. I'd rather be in a big group, otherwise I feel a bit awkward. I'm trembling slightly in anticipation of what the training centre will have in store for me. I turn my head to look at Karina, my District partner. She appears to be confident, looking at the doors as if she wished that they'd open already. She's such an enigma, that girl. Her brown hair frames her face almost perfectly, and her almond shaped eyes shine beautifully. W-wait, I shouldn't be thinking like that, especially just before training. My body continues to betray me. Somehow, I can't tear my eyes from her. Karina is certainly interesting. She seems shy and withdrawn one minute, and then becomes a woman filled with confidence. Maybe that's her angle? Most likely.

"So, any plans for today, David?" she asks me suddenly, staring at me with those mesmerising eyes.

"Uh…yeah," I say awkwardly. "I'm thinking…survival?"

Karina nods.

"I was thinking the same thing actually," she says. "I might try some plant knowledge and some fire starting."

The elevator stops slowly, making my stomach do somersaults. The doors slide open gracefully, like the swan slides through water. The training centre is massive, with padded walls most likely made from a variety of softening materials, obviously produced in District Eight. There are several stations around the wide expanse of the centre, some with brightly painted targets, or with faceless dummies that watch me relentlessly as my eyes pass over them. Weapons are all stacked up on silvery racks, razor sharp and ready to use: swords, axes, spears, knives…the list goes on. I'm rendered speechless purely at the size of the place. It seems we're the last ones here, because everyone else is currently at different stations. Of course, I'm not surprised to find the careers are gathered at the weapons stations, laughing with each other or shouting insults at other tributes. I'll make sure to steer clear of them. I manage to pluck up the confidence to talk to Karina.

"Karina," I ask her. "The plant station first?"  
>It's a rather blunt question, and my voice trembles as I say it. Nonetheless, I mentally applaud myself for initiating some kind of verbal communication with another tribute.<p>

"Call me Kari, sweetie," Karina giggles to me, and she taps my nose with her index finger before taking my hand. "Let's try out the plants then."

She gives me a small wink and walks off, with me blushing at her heels, still holding her hand.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Hans Schmittling, Eighteen years old, District One Male POV<strong>

I lop off the head of my fourth dummy as my allies cheer and clap at my display with my sword skills. Pure perfection. I chuckle and smile confidently, and I turn to meet the varied stares of my allies. I can safely say that I'm in charge of the career pack this year, and everyone else seems to go along with it. My District partner, Tiffany, is fairly nice, and she'll be bound to kill lots of tributes. The small one – Kleska, I believe – looks almost unimpressed with my skills, but still smiles anyway. The pair from District Four seem strange. The guy's jaw is clenched, yet there is a mad gleam in his eyes that stare longingly at the weapons on the rack, as if asking to burst free and destroy something. He should be loyal, as long as his District partner doesn't cause too much trouble. I glance up at the large screen on one wall, and quickly find her name. _Mariel__Tide_. She watches us all silently, standing slightly behind the boy as if he'll protect her. In fact, she looks almost disgusted at my display of skill. What's wrong with my skills? Are they not perfection? Could I not at least get a ten for this? I grit my teeth and sigh.

That's when I notice that someone is missing. Are there not usually six in the career pack?

"Where's District Two?" I ask aloud.

"Uh, here?" Kleska says, raising her eyebrows.

"Where's your partner?" I reply, my voice demanding.

Kleska puts her hands on her hips, obviously disliking my tone.

"He's not joining the career pack." She answers simply.

"Why?" I fire off, my voice like a bullet. Kleska however, seems unfazed by my attitude.

"Because he hates us." She tells me matter-of-factly. "He told me this morning that he doesn't want to team up with us, because apparently, we're a group of arrogant brutes who kill for sport."

"Where is he?" I demand, and in answer, Kleska points her finger over to the obstacle course, where her partner is currently running laps. In fact, he looks rather weak for a career. I snort.

"He's nothing we can't handle. He'll be my number one kill in the bloodbath."

Tiffany laughs a little at my response, her black curly hair looking like an overgrown plant.

"Can I bag someone as well?" she asks me.

"Yeah, whatever." I reply.

I look up at the screen, and read the name of the boy from Two. _Steven Krane_. Interesting, but not too much of a bother. I'd be more concerned about the boy from Five. _Shaune Greyson._ He's alone at the moment at the knot tying station, and he's a bit of a tank. Actually, he could be useful.

"Hey guys," I say, grabbing the attention of the rest of the pack. "What about him? We could ask him to join the pack. He'd make a good addition."

I gesture over to Shaune, and the rest of the pack size him up.

"Hmmm…" Tiffany says, in deep thought.

"He looks pretty strong." shrugs the boy from Four. I glance up at the board. _Taser Shock_. Mariel looks up at him as if to silently try to grab his attention, but he continues to look at Shaune.

"Why does he have white hair?" asks Kleska, her nose wrinkled slightly in what appears to be a form of disgusted interest.

"He could pass for someone's grandfather." I admit, and then wince at my own words. My grandparents died last year. Luckily, they passed fairly peacefully in their sleep, both within weeks of each other. They used to be my idols, and they abandoned me. The mark they left still hurts a little. It's like a stain on a pristine tablecloth. It's always there, and it never leaves you. _An excellent choice of words there, Hans…_

"Should we just go over and ask him if he wants to join us?" Tiffany suggests.

"I'll do it!" Kleska announces, and walks towards the boy before anyone can say another word. We all watch as there is a small exchange between the pair: Kleska asking Shaune with a hand placed on her hip, and the large boy shaking his head silently. I guess he doesn't want to join us then. I shrug and turn back to working on my swordsmanship. These tributes are certainly going to fall like skittles. I can't wait until the killing starts. After all, that's what I'm best at.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Taser Shock, Eighteen years old, District Four Male POV<strong>

I feel conflicted. Half of me wants to run over to those weapons and feel them in my hands. I want to see the light glint off the metal of those deadly tools. I almost want to train and show everyone what I'm made of. However, the other half of me resists, reminding me that Mariel is there, that I can hurt her if I give in. I don't want to become the monster, but the monster cannot be contained. But Mariel…

I breathe in deeply and close my eyes, trying to compose myself, clearing my head of all thought. I brush through the cobwebs of my brain, fleeing from the crawling spiders of the sadism I feel.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. It's Mariel. Her beauty is as perfect as usual, and it warms my heart to see her look up to me. Her skin looks like succulent toffee, and I'm sure she would taste just as sweet if I captured her lips in my own. _Stop it!_

"I don't like it here." she whispers to me, while the rest of the pack train at the swords station. We're just out of earshot; I don't think they can hear us, but I decide to be quiet anyway.

"In the pack, you mean?" I ask. She nods.

"I don't feel safe around them. They could kill us at any second." she explains.

I envelop her in my arms, my feelings of unrequited love infinite for the angel burrowing inside my chest. How can someone be so beautiful and not even realise it?

"It's all going to be okay." I tell her, hoping to reassure her. Instead she frowns.

"Not it's not," she protests. "One, if not both of us is going to die, and there is nothing we can do about it."

"I know you can do this," I tell her soothingly. "I know you can survive. And I'm going to help you to get there."

Mariel sighs into my chest for a while, before we're interrupted.

"Yo, lovers! Why don't you have a crack at this?" One says cockily, swinging his sword around. "Taser goes first."

I look at Mariel uneasily, the dark side of my heart already urging me to move forward. Mariel takes one last look at me, and then turns away. I know she can't bear to see me as the monster I am. She can't bear with knowing already, let alone seeing it with her own two eyes.

I take the trident from One, and they all step back to let me do my work. The weapon in my hands feels so familiar, and so cold. It's like the iciness of the instrument seeps through my skin, tainting my body, rushing up to my head and my heart, where the sadist lies. I thirst for blood, for destruction…

_I hunger. The trident in my hands becomes my new best friend as my heart soars. Arm and heart move as one: one beating, the other moving gracefully. The prongs of the trident slam into the first dummy, knocking it off its feet and ripping it in half, the red liquid squirting out and covering me. But do I care? This is what I _live_ for. Blood. Fake, real, it doesn't matter. As long as I can smell it in the air, the pure metallic scent of the life sustaining force wafting up my nostrils. I sigh in pleasure, before going about dismembering all of the other dummies. I bathe in the blood of the dummies…or are they people now? This is pure freedom, painting myself in red, with the paintbrush as the sword in my hands. It splatters all over me, like heavy rain, and I smile as the thick liquid slides over my skin. Oh how good it feels to feel the blood, to see it spill from the wounds I've created. How good it feels for the darkness inside to be satisfied. I lick some of the artificial blood off of my finger. Not bad._

_I finish and I turn to see the rest of the careers looking at me. In fact, the whole room stares at me, mostly in fear or surprise. I lock eyes with a certain blonde haired girl, and I smile at her. She gasps, and steps back a step or two. The trident clatters to the floor as my dark green eyes take her in. What a beauty…_

_She shakes her head. _

"_No…" she says. "I can't be here and watch you turn into this."_

_There are tears in her eyes as she says this, and she walks from the career pack to a station, not looking back. I can tell that she is barely managing to hold in her tears._

"_Good job," One tells me. "Shame you lost your girlfriend though."_

"_She's not my girlfriend," I tell him darkly. "She's my prey."_

_One chuckles, liking this side of me. He seems to approve, and he claps me on the shoulder. The girl from Two looks at me as if I'm crazy, and the girl from One smiles a little. I see the blonde beauty hunched over, working hard on something. _

_You said you loved her? What about if I gave her a small makeover? Don't worry Taser, I'll be taking over for now. It'll be plain sailing with the blood on our side. Didn't you say you liked the feel of it anyway?_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Vella Contessa, Fifteen years old, District Eleven POV<strong>

I've been alone all morning, having little courage to speak to anyone. I don't trust anyone my own age, and to be honest, everyone looks quite intimidating…unless you count the younger tributes. There lies the problem though. I was planning on maybe trying to make friends with one of the younger tributes, but everyone is too caught up in what happened earlier to even think about forming any alliances. Most people are keeping to themselves after the boy from Four massacred the dummies and turned around with this freakish grin on his face. The girl from Four immediately left the pack, which must have been hard to do, because they looked quite close, especially at the reapings and during the chariot rides. Still, she may be kind and repulsed at what the careers are like, but it could all be an act just to kill us all off. I wouldn't blame her if it was. You've got to try and find a way to survive somehow. That's what I've realised so far about the Hunger Games; everyone is just a kid trying to survive. Everyone's just a kid who wants to go home. Even the bloodthirsty careers are human, people who love their Mom and once played with toys before they turned into sharpened weapons. However, I still feel the fear in my heart, the beat of my organ speeding up just at the thought of even coming face to face with any of them in the arena.

I myself am trying hard to get home. I _know_ I can do it! I have to get back to Nettle and the other children. I must show them that I love them more than anything in the world; even if that means that I have to kill everyone here. But there lies another problem. How am I supposed to kill the children? The twelve and thirteen year olds here look so small and vulnerable…how can I bring myself to kill children that still possess their innocence?

The lunch bell rings, and everyone gets up and leaves for the lunch hall. I wait until everyone leaves before getting up from the plant station I'm working on. I've decided to try out most of the stations, and I'm itching to try out the hand-to-hand combat. I got in so many fights at school, that I wonder if I actually have some degree of skill as a result of it. Still, I'm planning on learning something so that I can at least put up a fight in the arena if anyone decides to hunt me down.

I make my way to the back of the lunch queue, trying not to make myself noticeable. I don't want people to talk to me, unless they're younger than me. Children make me feel more at peace.

I collect my lunch and find an empty table to myself. Looking around the cafeteria, I can focus on the tributes instead of worrying about who's going to which station.

Of course, there are the careers, laughing and talking loudly with each other – especially with the creepy boy from Four with those dark green eyes. You can practically smell the evil rolling off of him in waves.

The boy from Two is separate from the career pack, currently talking to none other than my district partner, Massai Puna. He's a bit creepy if you ask me, because he's constantly raking my body with his eyes, and that unnerves me a little. Child or not, Massai reminds me of the leering men I know so well. I don't really want to get involved with that, as much as I'd like to help. Plus the boy from Two looks threatening, and is someone I definitely wouldn't trust. Looking at him now, I can tell he's quite intelligent and sneaky.

The boy from Five is deadly silent as he eats, but he occasionally glances at the little boy from Three as if he knows him. The guys a machine, and also appears to be another threat. His white hair adds to the mysteriousness that surrounds him.

The vicious looking girl from Eight, and the ditzy girl from Nine are talking, but I'm not really sure what's going on there. All of the other tributes also seem to either be alone, or they are talking to someone.

One lonely tribute in particular catches my eye – the blond haired boy from Twelve. He keeps on stealing small glances at me, and it's a bit disconcerting. He looks to be about the same age as me, and he's on his own table too. We lock eyes this time, and he flashes a small smile at me before diverting his gaze again. I'm surprised to feel butterflies in my stomach and warmth in my cheeks. Am I…blushing? To be honest, he does look handsome…

I shake my head, batting off these thoughts. They'll distract me from getting home to the children. Still, no matter how hard I try, there's a small ache in my heart, as if it is almost drawn to the boy. I quickly finish my lunch and leave. I need to focus. I need to get home to the children…

* * *

><p><span><strong>Derek Schutze, Sixteen years old, District Nine POV<strong>

I'm surprised how the day has gone by so quickly. Already it's the afternoon. Time seems to pass like the blink of an eye, with such speed and dexterity that I'm surprised that they only give us three days to train. How is that even fair? The careers have been trained to win the Hunger Games since they could walk, but the rest of us? We are left to scurry around the arena with no skill at all. That's hardly fair. They have years of practice and experience on us. I guess it's quite ironic when the careers lose though. After all, they have a massive advantage over everyone, and yet one of us still beats them from time to time.

I'm currently at the fire starting station, but I'm not really paying much attention to how I'm doing, instead focussing on what the other tributes are doing. The careers have arrived at the spears station, and they're trying that one out. Everyone else seems to be milling about. The only noticeable tributes is the girl from Seven who is scaling the climbing net with ease, while her district partner struggles a little several rungs below. Of course, there's the boy from Five, who appears to be very strong due to the weights he's lifting, and the girl from Eleven is catching a few eyes as well, having decided to try out the hand-to-hand combat station. She's pretty good.

I sigh and give up. I simply can't start a fire at the moment. The careers are busy with spears, so I decide to try bows and arrows. My second name means "Archer" according to an ancient language called "German", so could that suggest…? Well, I might as well give it a try.

There's another girl at the archery station as well. My memory serves well as I recount her reaping. She was very moody and looked fierce and angry. However, now she seems a lot more relaxed, her face forming a shape of concentration instead of annoyance.

I sidle up next to her and try shooting a few arrows, allowing the trainer to perfect my stance. After a few tries, it's clear that Archery is not something that comes naturally to me, and this seems apparent with the girl as well. She sighs, ditches the bow, and walks to the next station, which happens to have a sickle. Now _there_ is a weapon I can use.

I take the sickle from the rack and I practice slicing the dummies, like I slice the wheat in the fields back at home. It's surprisingly easy.

"Whoa…" a female voice mutters from behind me.

I turn to find myself face to face with the moody looking girl.

"Uh, thanks?" I say to her, taking her interest as a compliment.

"How do you do that?" she asks inquisitively.

"I'm from District Nine, so it's a natural thing." I reply truthfully.

"You've got some skills," she says, still impressed. "What's your name?"

"I'm Derek," I reply. "…Yourself?"

I'm surprised I'm talking so much to someone. This is an achievement. I barely ever talk to people. Maybe the effects of the Games and the Capitol are changing me already.

"Skyla," The girl answers shortly, and then growls in frustration, her face resorting to its usual disgruntled mask. "I can't seem to get hang of weapons that much."

"Maybe you just have to find the right weapon?" I suggest.

Skyla nods.

"Yeah…" she sighs. She stands there for a moment before speaking again.

"Do you want to be allies?"

She kind of blurts out the proposition before clamping a hand over her mouth comically, as if she is forbidden to speak like that.

I consider my options. Skyla certainly appears to lack strength, but it's always good to have someone in the arena. I nod.

"Sure." I say.

Skyla's face turns from a dark thunderstorm to a summer's day in seconds.

"Yay!" she cheers, and hugs me rather awkwardly around the neck before quickly breaking apart.

"Where are we going to go next then?" I ask.

Skyla makes a face.

"I dunno. Wherever you want to go to next." She replies.

I glance back over to the fire starting station. I do need to learn, and I might as well try…

"Do you know anything about fire starting?" I ask, my tone sounding tired just at the thought of having to learn. To my surprise, Skyla smiles.

"That's easy," she says. "C'mon, I'll teach you."

It turns out that my new ally is not as useless as I thought. I quickly follow her, knowing that she might be able to teach me something that could very well save my life. Well, unless someone kills me first.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Kip Lightcomb, Sixteen years old, District Ten POV<span>**

I sweep the plants test again, guaranteeing myself another 100% grade. Smiling, I know that this is good news. The more I learn here, the stronger the hopes I have of getting back home. Colby and Calista cried their eyes out when they came to see me, begging me to come back home. I just wrinkled my nose in disgust. Why do they have to be so dramatic? I can take care of myself, whether they believe it or not. And it's all because of a shrivelled arm. Mom was crying, but she hugged me and told me to do my best. My Dad shook my arm and told me that he was proud of me, whatever happens. That's all I've ever needed to hear him say.

I firmly decided a while ago that I was definitely going into the arena alone. I'd rather be able to hear my own thoughts instead of allying with someone who might disturb them. In addition to that, there'll be one less person to worry about, and betrayal will be out of the equation.

By now, I've moved onto the knot tying station. Where it may be fairly useless, it can actually provide me with a possible trap for any opponents that lumber after me. Then I can kill them off and reset the trap. It's quite easy. You'd think that snares would do the same job, but a rope trap that leaves you dangling upside down can be very useful if you know how to set one up.

I've been analysing the competition, testing abilities against abilities, and matching the approximate threats of each and every tribute. The careers are the obvious threats, but there will also be other alliances and/or threats to me, so I have to plan them out as well. The careers' plan is already out in the open, because they use the same strategy every year. Hunt down the tributes at night so that they can gather a few more kills before the tension between them becomes too great.

There are a few lonely tributes at the moment, but a couple have paired up, such as the David and Karina from Seven, and Steven and Massai from Two and Eleven respectively.

I already know _my _plan for the Games. It's simple really. I'll do as my mentor told me: find water and stay as far away from the careers as possible. Hopefully, those two pieces of advice will help me to get out of here and go back home. Of course, this means that I have to kill at least one out of twenty four persons, which would technically make me a murderer no matter how I look at it.

If I take anything from these Games, I want to be able to prove to people that having one arm does not stop you from being independent. My family at home are undoubtedly worried sick, yet if I manage to show them what I'm capable of…maybe people won't look at me with so much pity in their eyes?

The bell signifying the end of the day rings out, and I sigh. I've done what I can today, but I have this itch to just run up to the throwing knife station and have a go. I want to be able to show my talent! My mentor however, seems to disagree. In fact, she's slightly unstable. She's called Mallia Napion, and her mind is always changing. At first she tells me that I'm going to win, and that I need to find water, stay away from the careers etc, but then she whirls around and tells me that there's nothing I can do because I'll die anyway. Her broken mind is obviously the work of the Games. I've heard that the victors have nightmares every night. I'd rather be plagued by nightmares than die a painful death though.

I try to conjure up the thought of me winning, and sadly, it escapes me. I guess you never know the full extent of what you might feel if you were to win the Hunger Games. Happiness I suppose. And sadness if you had any allies. Relief, from being free from the arena. So, winning the Hunger Games sounds good for me. If you look at it logically, sadness won't have an effect on me, because I won't have any allies to worry about in the Games. This just leaves the nightmares for me to deal with. I know I'm strong enough on the inside to deal with them; I've dealt with bullying and a shrivelled arm for my whole life – there's not much that I can't take.

Most of the tributes are gone by now, so I decide to trudge my way out of the training centre, and back to my assigned floor.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Steven "Spray" Krane, Eighteen years old, District Two Male POV<strong>

I was easily the first back to our assigned floor, and I hoped that I wouldn't be bumping into Helena or Kian. Of course, I forgot about dinner, which would be the perfect time to talk about the day. One problem: Helena and Kian don't know that I'm not in the career pack. I think about the ally I gained today. Massai Puna. The boy seems small and cunning, yet there is something that I can't quite put my finger on. There's a whole new personality under his nice exterior, and I'm not sure what it is. Still, we're allies, so we're working together for the time being. If he comes to stab me in the back, I will applaud him, for I'd rather someone from the other Districts won instead of a bloodthirsty career.

We're seated around the table, with myself at the head, and Kleska at the other end. Much to Helena's dismay, she is Kleska's mentor, and they must have had at least three screaming matches today, if not more. Kian is my mentor. He seems a bit nicer, but it feels like he's always rushing me to do things. That's understandable though. He probably doesn't want to make any emotional ties with his tributes, so he just gets things over and done with.

The table is fairly silent as we eat dinner. I've taken a liking to the toffee-flavoured spring onions, and the delicious 'satay' chicken is apparently an ancient recipe. Even for someone from District Two, I marvel over the fanciness of our living space. There are golden chandeliers with thousands of glistening bulbs, a plush sofa to relax on, almost all the food you can eat…need I say more to describe its stunning beauty?

It's a lavish apartment, yet I can't help but think that this is what the poor people in other districts should be eating and living in. The money needed to make this could probably supply a whole district with improved living conditions for a few months, if not more. I sigh as I slice off a piece of the satay chicken and place it in my mouth. It has a very nutty and buttery taste, and as much as it tastes amazing, I can't help but to feel bad for those who will never taste satay chicken in their lives.

Helena's eyes flicker to me, and she is the first to break the silence in our meal.

"Something on your mind, Steven?" she asks inquisitively. "Did it all go okay at training today?"

"Yeah, it was fine," I reply evenly. "I made an ally."

"Just one?" Helena asks, quirking an eyebrow. "Is there only two in the career pack this year?"

I hide a wince as she turns her steely gaze upon Kleska, almost commanding the girl to answer. That was not the right thing to say. Kleska replies with a glare of her own before replying.

"Steven isn't in the career pack." she tells the table.

The reaction is somewhat…amusing.

Kian chokes on his drink and has a small coughing fit. Helena's face freezes in surprise, and our escort, Gauze, imitates a goldfish.

"Not what you were expecting?" Kleska asks in a patronising tone. She flashes a small smile at me. As much as she did tell on me, the reaction of our mentors and our escort is priceless. Yet, that small smile just adds to the puzzle that is Kleska Giori. First she's rude, then she's sassy, and now she's all smiles?

"Why?" Kian asks, trying to keep his voice steady, "Why have you decided to do this?"

"Because I don't want a career to win," I counter simply.

"You…_what_?" Helena questions icily.

"You heard him," sighed Kleska. "But don't worry, he's no match for me."

At her statement, her mouth twists into a far more sinister smile, a smile of a career. Hmph. Bring it on, little girl. Even if I don't manage to take her down, I know that I will have at least tried to eliminate the careers so that the other Districts have a chance of winning.

I stand up and leave the table, going straight into my room. I ignore the pounding on my door and the demanding yells from outside. I know that Kian and Helena are disappointed in me, but I also know that I have someone I can protect. I have a purpose in these Games. I don't care if I die. Just as long as the careers lose this year, I'll be the happiest guy alive.

* * *

><p><strong>So, first day of training! Firstly, how was my writing? <strong>

**So, out of all the tributes in this chapter, who is your favourite (other than your own characters guys, come on ;D) and why? Also, was my writing good/bad/any typos? It's training, and things are really heating up. I'll post the alliances on the final training chapter, and again (if I remember) at the night before the games. **

**Little Addie is so innocent and happy, but do you think she'll stay that way when the blood spills? David and Karina look like they have a little thing going on there. Opinions on that? Hans is already sizing people up; do you reckon he'll get any more vendettas on training continues? Taser's dark side is out to play, and Mariel doesn't like it. Do you think he'll come back to his senses in time to realise what he's losing? Vella is definitely taking in her competition, but do you think that the boy from 12 might be a possible ally? Skyla and Derek. Did anyone see that one coming? Kip seems just as quiet as usual, yet he's already calculating ways for him to win. What did you think of his thoughts? And Steven's given his mentors a nasty surprise, but with Massai by his side, do you think he'll be able to take down any of the careers? **

**Also, there is now a poll up on my profile. Go and vote which tributes you want to keep alive until the final eight! This poll can really help me to decide whom I should ditch early in the Games (along with reviews, how detailed the form is, how interesting the character is, and how easy they are to write), so get voting! If you don't have any favourites, then just re-read the reapings or the recent chapters to get a hold of some of their personalities. **

**I've also made a blog, which is on my profile. This gives you a small overview on The Fawkes Verse, and a little bit of info on our current victors/stand-in escorts, so make sure to check that out if you're interested. Yes, please read the small extract above the blog link too: it will give you a bit more of an insight into the situation in Panem at the moment XD**

**Whoa, long authors note, even for me! I'm in good spirits, and I hope you are too (I got into my first choice of university XD).**  
><strong>Over and out!<strong>

**~Mental**


	17. Sharpened Blades

**So, here is the second long chapter of training. I know one or two of you have been waiting specifically for this chapter: BamItsTyler, I'm talking to you XD**

**Thanks you to thg46divergent, Wendy Hamlet, BamItsTyler, Mayasha-chan, 212 degrees, EllipticDART, and HungerG94 for all of your wonderful reviews. Most of you are giving detailed reviews too, which makes me happy, so hugs and cookies for everyone :D  
>Also I give a warm welcome to Haoi and thg46divergent, who are new people to the story with their follows and favourites! <strong>

**Also, the poll. Thank you to those who have voted on the poll, and the result is very interesting at the moment. BUT people who haven't yet voted can still change things. I will be leaving the poll open until the bloodbath chapter is posted, so make sure to vote, because we're only five chapters away. (Yeah! I can kill people! *ahem*) The poll does not determine the winner; it only adds to the points in my Very Complicated Table XD**

**Trigger warning: Mild sexual harassment/groping, in Massai's POV. Don't read if you don't like it! And by mild, I mean ****mild.**** (This is a T rated fic y'know!)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I've created!**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Mariel Tide, Eighteen years old, District Four Female.<strong>

_His eyes darken to a deep green; almost a black, so different from the light in his eyes that once shone like a thousand suns. His face wears a permanent smirk…a sneer of some sort that transforms his face into a monstrous beast. His gaze pierces my back like a razor blade, or rather, the blade he'll try to impale me with. How did I ever fall in love with the darkness he had inside of him? Did I not realise the risks that were there? _

Taser. I can't get him out of my head. My best and only trusted friend has left me for the careers. How am I supposed to cope with this? I should have tried to help him, tried to control the evil hidden deep within. It's too late now. Only he can control himself and this urge of his. There's no point dwelling on it though. I must move on.

Sighing, my knife embeds itself into the target, deep in the heart of the dummy. I'm quite good when it comes to these throwing knives; I seem to have the knack for it. Luckily, small knives are common in the arena, so I should be able to grab some in the bloodbath before anyone decides to target me.

I send more and more knives flying into the dummy, each landing in its mid section; some close to the heart, a couple landing on the arms and shoulders. I know I've already attracted a few eyes, especially from the younger tributes. Hopefully, some of them might approach me, and ask for an alliance. Hang on…why don't _I_ go over to _them_ and ask for an alliance? Then maybe they won't have to find the confidence to come and talk to me.

I have attracted…older tributes as well. The boy from Two who split off from the careers is glancing at me, analysing my skills. There's no doubt that he noticed my departure from the career pack and is interested in my actions. I'm not sure I trust him though.

I decide that moving onto a survival station might help me out a bit more now that I'm a lot more comfortable with knives. I check over my shoulder as I walk, seeing Taser and the others at the axe station, laughing among themselves. I shake my head. I have to stay on task. Taser can't distract me. If he has that power over me, he'll be the reason I die.

As I turn back to continue on walking, I bump into the small girl from Five.

"Oh!" I say. "Sorry!"

The young girl blinks up at me, and I recognise her as the innocent girl at the reapings. Florescent, I think her name was. I check the screen. _Florescent Niesta_.

"That's okay!" the girl answers with a chirp. Her eyes are a warm brown, wide and cow like, looking at me as if I'm her best friend. She's so small. I'm at least a head and a half taller than her. The dusting of freckles on her nose, and her hair pulled back…all of it just accentuates her youth. She's so young…

I'm angry at the Capitol for doing this to children at this age. Little Florescent is so innocent, and barely even knows what she's going into. Why must she pay for the stupid crimes of a war that happened eighty years ago? I already know the answer to that one. The rebellion, five years ago. Maybe if it wasn't for Katniss Everdeen, then President Snow might have stopped the Games. _Idiot!_ I chide myself for such stupid thoughts. President Snow would never stop the Games.

I'm brought back to reality by Florescent poking my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her cheery tone dipping a little in concern. I smile kindly at her, crouching down to talk to her.

"Yes, I'm fine," I tell her. "But I guess I'm a bit upset."

"Awww, why?" Florescent trills, her face melting into a pout.

"Well, I don't want to be here…" I drift off, not sure whether or not Florescent actually knows about the Hunger Games, but then I remind myself that she does. Everyone does. I can see the haunted look in her eyes, hidden behind a mask of happiness and innocence. She's scared, still innocent, but dead scared. That's when I decide that I have to ally with her. She's so vulnerable that I have an urge to take her under my wing, protecting her from the bloodthirsty careers and the mutts the Gamemakers are bound to send our way. She almost reminds me of Annabelle in a way; so youthful, with a life still ahead of her, cut away by the Capitol like scissors to string.

"I want to go home…" Florescent tells me. "But don't worry. I'm going to win this thing so I can go home to Mommy and Daddy!"

I internally cringe at that. How can Florescent win the Hunger Games, when a twelve year old has never won it before? I can try to help her get there, and there is a first time for everything. Surely she deserves to live a longer life than I do?

"Florescent…" I say. "Do you want me to help you get back home?"

Florescent frowns for a second, before flashing me a bright smile.

"You wanna be my ally? Yay! Nate told me to get lots and lots of allies because he said that I'll be safe if I have someone else!"

She hugs me around the neck, her auburn hair tickling my cheek. Chuckling at her happiness, I hug her back.

"I guess we're allies then," I tell her with a smile. "Where do you want to go first?"

"Umm…how about the knife station? You are so cool with those knives!" Florescent cheers.

I would originally protest, seen as I'd just come from the knife station, but I decide that Florescent needs some kind of weapons experience. I nod, and she runs off, letting me follow her to the knife station. I'm strangely elated that I have an ally: even if it is Florescent. I'm filled with this strange feeling of hope. I look over to Taser again, and he catches my eye. He flashes a dark smile at me, his eyes ravenously checking me out. I stare back with ice in my eyes, and his smile lessens a bit. His face settles into a sort of snarl, his green eyes probably telling me how many ways he can kill me with only his bare hands. I still glare at him, and he narrows his eyes before turning away. A small battle won, I turn back.

Again, I almost bump into another person, a much taller and stronger person at that. The boy from Two looks down at me, his brown eyes asking me questions.

"Sorry," I mutter, and I try to push past the ex-career, only for him to grab my wrist. I try to take his hand off of it, but he's too strong for me.

"Let go!" I cry, but instead, he puts a finger on his lips, his face asking me to trust him. I relax, but only by a fraction, and I make no sound. He lets go of my wrist.

"What do you want?" I whisper to him, feeling bewildered by Two's actions. I look up at the screen to check his name. Steven, huh?

"I'm impressed," he says simply, not answering my question at all.

I raise an eyebrow.

"What about?" I ask.

"You're helping the other tributes instead of staying with the careers."

It almost sounds like an accusation.

"Well, I can't let innocent children die for nothing," I argue. "They don't deserve to die so young. I'm working against the careers, because I know that they won't hesitate to kill everyone else in the room!"

"I agree," Steven answers me. "I'm doing the exact same as you are. I'm trying to ally with the other tributes to make sure they don't die,"

He made a face.

"I'm against the careers because of how they think. They just kill as if it's some kind of sport. They don't deserve to win. Our Districts are rich enough as it is. People where we live have enough to eat, have a house to live in, they have fuel to burn. But the others? I'd rather a non-career win these Games, so that the other Districts can have a chance at escaping poverty."

"But they won't," I counter. "I understand that you're trying to help, but don't you realise that even if a District wins, they only have that victory for a year?"

"It's better than nothing." he replies. And I completely agree. At least they get something.

Steven puts out his hand.

"I promise I won't kill you. You're no career. Hopefully both of our combined efforts can bring a young tribute back home, safe and sound," he smiles slightly as he says those words, and I find myself smiling back.

"I won't kill you either," I promise. "Hopefully we can save an innocent. I want a child to be happy for the rest of their life. I don't want that stolen by a career."

Steven nods, and he gives me a two-fingered salute before walking away, meeting up with the District Eleven boy. I walk over to the knife station, feeling a lot happier than I did yesterday. It's almost as if a weight has been lifted from my chest. Somehow, someway, I'll get a child back home.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Massai Puna, Twelve years old, District Eleven Male.<strong>

Steven comes over to me, and I nod in greeting, my eyes flickering to the backside of the retreating District Four girl.

"What was that all about?" I ask, wondering why Steven would talk to another career.

"She's trying to help a younger tribute to get out, just like I am," Steven shrugs. "She said she won't kill any of us, so we're pretty much working together."

"Soooo…we're part of their alliance now?" I ask.

Steven shook his head.

"No," he tells me. "Just an agreement. I don't completely trust her enough to become allies with her. She might be playing an angle."

I sigh.

"Do you think we need a few more allies?" I ask him.

Steven nods.

"Probably," he agrees, and looks around, spotting my District partner across the room. "What about her? She looks pretty lonely, and she's a good fighter."

"Let me handle this one," I smile. "I'm sure she'll be so overwhelmed by me that she'll have to say yes."

Steven rolls his eyes as I get up and saunter over to the girl. A lot of tributes we've asked so far don't really seem to be interested in joining us. Steven told me that turning down my charm might help in not scaring them off. So recently, I've decided for a new angle.

"Hey babe." I address my District partner, Vella Contessa. She stiffens at the words, and turns around, obviously surprised to see that I had uttered them instead of someone else. Future Finnick Odair, coming right up. I wink at her cheekily, and she blinks, her face wrinkling in supposed disgust. She must be putting on an act. I must prove to her that I'm hot and awesome enough to ally with!

"Uh…hi." She says, seeming slightly disturbed.

"So baby, I was wondering…do you like how I'm lookin' this morning?" I suggest coming much closer to her. My eyes follow the curves of her body, her breasts, her hips…that ass…those legs. Damn, she's a beauty.

She shifts uncomfortably under my gaze, before answering.

"Um…you look okay I guess." She says awkwardly.

I drift slowly closer to her.

"So, I was wondering why a beautiful young girl like yourself has no allies whatsoever," I say, pretending to examine my fingernails in a nonchalant fashion. "I would have expected someone to ask if they could ally with you."

Vella shakes her head.

"I don't trust any of you," she says simply. "Why should I ally with someone who will only stab me in the back later?"

"Oh, honey," I tell her sweetly. "You know I would never do that, hm?"

My hand drifts towards her leg and strokes up from the thigh. It's a gentle caress, barely a touch, but as my hand lifts higher, Vella notices and she smacks my hand away.

"Don't touch me!" she yells, causing several of the tributes to turn and look at us, interested in what was going on. My hand throbs in pain, and I know she's left a bruise, because she's wearing knuckle-dusters; accessories I didn't realise she was wearing before. Vella's eyes scan my hand.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice as shaky as her apology. "Just don't touch me."

She flees to the knot-tying station, leaving her knuckle-dusters to clatter onto the floor behind her.

I saunter back, feeling several pairs of eyes on me on the room. I might as well look confident. Suddenly, I'm intercepted by the careers. Fear flares in my heart, and my blood runs cold as I take in their smiling faces. They circle me, surrounding me, ready to deliver a death sentence that will surely be carried out in the arena.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" the boy from One says.

Another boy smiles creepily.

"I could spit-roast him." He says, his voice coated in something dark and evil.

Steven pushes his way through the circle of careers, grabs my hand, and pulls me out of the circle.

"You stay away from him." He warns them.

"Aw, how sweet!" the girl from One drawls sarcastically. "The runaway weakling of the career pack, and the man-whore from Eleven."

The small girl from Two walks around us, as if she's inspecting something.

"I could take you both down in my sleep." she comments.

"Just stay away from us." Steven hisses, and we walk away from the careers while they laugh at us and call us rude names. I'm shaken from my small spat with the careers, already afraid of them. I'm not in the arena yet, and I'm practically hyperventilating. Steven notices my reaction as we walk over to the mine station.

"Just ignore them," he tells me. "They're trying to scare you, so you won't put up a fight in the arena."

I just nod silently, thinking about the careers. Will they be going for me first? Or will they go for someone else instead? I'm hoping that they'll miss me out and kill the others. I'm upset now, and my day has been ruined because of those big careers. I'm meant to be seductive, strong, and brave. But all of that has crumbled, falling to pieces in front of me. My wall of composure is falling down. I want to be famous. I want the ladies. But why am I left like this? Why am I left to be the careers' play dough at the expense of the Capitol? I'm not sure, and I know I have no choice but to play along. What else can I do?

"Sorry about the girl." I tell Steven.

"What happened with her?" asks Steven curiously. "I didn't see."

"I was persuading her to join, but when I put my hand on her arm, she got scared," I lie smoothly. "I guess she had some messed up thought to it."

"Don't worry about it, Massai," Steven said to me. "Just stay cool. I'm sure we'll find another ally soon enough."

I quietly agree with him, a silence coming between us. We need another ally. I ponder over my thoughts and actions. Why can't my moves work? Aren't most girls wowed by my handsomeness? So why is Vella not interested? I guess I'll just have to figure out why.

As I sit and help Steven, I can't help but to feel scared for the Games. It's natural apparently, but I know that this fear won't go before I leave that arena alive. Maybe my fear will keep me alive? I'm lost without answers again, and I resort to staring at Vella's butt to help me focus. I didn't do well today, but I know at the next chance I get, I will be successful.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Skyla Truce, Sixteen years old, District Ten Female.<strong>

I stare across at Derek as we work together on tying knots. He's been really nice to me so far, by helping me with weapons skills, and generally just being there for me. Still, I guess that's what allies are meant to do for each other. To be honest though, I'm in a small dilemma of my own. Derek seems fairly nice, but how do I know he won't put a knife in my back? Well, I suppose I'm just going to have to trust him not to do that. Of course, it's not like _I_ haven't thought about killing _him_, but now I realise that he's quite valuable, so there's not really much point. In fact, it would be stupid.

I'm not feeling as frustrated now that I'm here, but it still dampens my mood over the fact that I'm going to have to kill at least one person in the next few days. It's kind of depressing, but I know that winning comes at a price. And if I win, my bitch of a Mom is _so_ not moving in with me. No way.

"Hey Skyla, I was wondering…what's your District like?" asks Derek out of the blue.

"Um…" I think hard. Derek's question surprised me, and caught me off guard. I quickly made something up.

"It's alright, I guess. We're livestock, so it usually stinks of cowpat. Still, it's home, so…" I drift off.

So what? What do I really care about? There are few things I love about home, and that's Becky, Adam, and Hannah. Everyone else are just people I don't like. I smile, knowing that right now, Bernie will be doing jobs for my mother. Let him take the brunt of the work for once.

I decide to return the question.

"So what about you? Surely District Nine must be more exciting?" I ask.

"Not really," Derek tells me. "There's just fields and fields of grain. It's like a never-ending field of crops."

I grimace. Urgh, that sounds even more boring than my District. I finish tying my knot, and I watch as Derek finishes his. There are white scars all over his hands, and the skin is slightly marbled.

"Where did you get those scars?" I ask him curiously.

Derek's eyes lift to meet mine.

"I just got most of them from cutting myself with a scythe when I was younger. Most people have scars somewhere; I have a few more on my legs too."

His explanation is interesting. I reach over and brush my fingers over one of his hands, feeling the scars beneath my fingers. They're surprisingly bumpy and soft, almost like velvet. In seconds, he takes his hand away, looking at me as if I'm crazy.

"Sorry," I apologise. "I just wanted to know what they felt like. It must have hurt, right?"

He nods, relaxing.

"Yeah, they were pretty painful, but you kind of get used to it," he tells me. "I have a small collection now."

He smiles as if he's told a joke, but my face remains passive. Sighing, I shrug.

"I'm bored here. Maybe we should try something else." I moan.

Derek complies, searching for a free station.

"It looks like the Archery is free for now. Why don't we try that out?" he suggests.

My spirits lift a bit at the thought of using a weapon. I tired out archery yesterday, but maybe a second try might yield some results. I have so much trouble with them; they're too hard to do! I just get annoyed with them. Derek has promised to help me, and he really does, but I've come to the realisation that maybe weapons aren't my forte. We stand at the Archery station, shooting arrows. Mine miss the target completely, and Derek doesn't appear to be doing that well either.

"So…" I say, trying to break the silence between us. "Do we have a plan for the arena?"

Derek shrugs.

"My mentor told me just to try and find water and stay away from the careers," he tells me. "I'm hoping we can stay alive long enough for the careers to attack each other so we have a bit more of a chance."

I find myself nodding along. It seems like a good plan, but it'll be difficult.

"Well, with my survival skills, and your fighting skills, we're a dream team." I say with a small smile. He smiles back in agreement.

"See any other threats you need me to keep an eye out for?" I continue.

Derek shoots another arrow, and it lands on the edge of the target before falling off. That was an unlucky shot. I'm about to tell him that before his next arrow hits the bullseye, which shuts me right up. Derek grins triumphantly, and I roll my eyes, my face in its usual expression.

"Well, I'm definitely thinking that the boy from Two and the girl from Four have something going on, like a dual alliance," Derek admits. "And the boy from Five is a distinct threat."

"We'll probably just have to use stealth and brains to our advantage." I decide, and Derek agrees with me by giving me a simple nod. Derek's not a talker really, but at least he answers me when I speak, so it's not too bad. Plus, if we want to be stealthy, nods and hand signals could be a large part in our survival, especially if we want to creep up on tributes, or if we want to hunt. Talking isn't always necessary to our survival, or at least I don't think so anyway.

I pay attention to the other tributes, already bored with archery. The kind girl from Four is with the innocent girl from Five, and the career from Two is with the creepy kid from Eleven. Remembering the small situation that happened not so long ago, I check up on the girl from Eleven, who is running the obstacle course quite well, and I manage to notice the beaming girl from Six flying up the climbing wall as if she actually has wings. I know we have some competition this time around, but judging by some of the tributes; especially the ditzy one from Nine, this Games shouldn't be too hard to win once you get the careers out the way. If we can even find a way to kill the careers without dying ourselves, that is. Sighing, I twang the bowstring, knowing that whatever comes my way, I'll find a way to deal with it. I have to win, simply because I deserve it. My life at home sucks, and I need a new one. Hopefully the brutes won't be the ones standing in my way. I turn back to the Archery station, knowing that training with weapons will be a godsend in the arena. Eventually, I end up throwing my bow to the floor in annoyance, and I wait until Derek is finished. Will I ever find a weapon that's suited for me?

* * *

><p><span><strong>Karina "Kari" Faust, Fifteen years old, District Seven Female.<strong>

David and I have just climbed the nets by the time the lunch bell rings. Exhausted from a morning of training, both of us are sweating a bit, having trained pretty hard. I can safely say that I've improved my climbing and balancing skills over the past day, despite the fact that I'm not too bad at it already. We've done an extensive and thorough program on the survival stations too, but David suggested that we could start on the weapons stations whenever I'm ready. I've been ready for ages, so I agreed.

David and I walk into the cafeteria. I sigh, recovering from our gruelling work out that sapped the energy from our bodies. I'm happy that this Capitol food is so packed with nutrients, or I'd be a living corpse right now.

I've been working on my angle and my plan for the Games. I need to string as many men along as I can, because they will be the key to my victory. I'll need brains and brawn to get close to home; David is the brains half of my equation, now I just need the brute force. I've tried eyeing up the careers, but none of them appear to notice my gaze. So I've recently decided to go for the other tributes. After all, not all of them are skin and bone. I take my chances as David gets up to grab some more food from the cafeteria. While he does that, I do my best to catch eyes.

The boy broken off from Two doesn't seem to notice me, and the pervy kid from Eleven isn't paying attention either. I gaze intently at the back of the Twelve boy, but he's goggling the Eleven girl every few seconds. Finally, I find a suitable target: the boy from Five. He looks quite strong, and he's currently alone. Surely he could make a great asset to my alliance? I mean the white hair is weird, but still, he's someone. I manage to lock eyes with him, and I play with a lock of my hair flirtatiously. He holds my gaze for a few seconds, before shaking himself out of some kind of stupor. He then avoids my line of sight from then on. Sighing, I rest my head in one of my palms, barely touching my food. This is not going well. Two in an alliance won't be getting us anywhere.

Guilt creeps into my chest like a sour lemon, making my heart burn at what I'm doing. I know that this is what I need to do to win this, but it doesn't make the guilt any less of a burden. To be honest, I'd rather take Round Two in the paper-making factory I work in than to do this to people. I'm lining them all up like slaves for some kind of carnage. Sometimes, I disgust myself.

David returns to his place in front of me, plopping down on a chair with a sigh.

"What's up?" I ask him. He jumps slightly, not expecting my speech.

"The boy from Four. He creeps me out a bit." David answers.

I glance over to the boy. He certainly does have that dark feel around him. I know that if I run into him in the arena, my blood will be used for a pretty painting. Another career slams his glass down on the table, laughing. The loud noise makes me jump, freezing me in place for a few seconds. I remind myself that there's no danger, and I calm down.

"Hey, are you alright?" David asks me, his eyes searching my face with increasing concern.

"I'm fine." I reply shortly, looking away. David doesn't answer me. That's what I like about David. He knows when to keep quiet.

"Do we have a plan for the Games?" he queries a couple of minutes later.

I pause for a moment.

"Maybe we could somehow ambush the careers?" I suggest.

"They'd take us out in seconds," David pointed out. "Unless we got one of them on their own…"

His eyes light up, and I nod, catching on to his thought process.

"Then the rest of the tributes will be ones that we'll find a way to deal with," I tell him. "Either that, or we'll hide for a while and attack people who get too close."

David nods, approving of my idea, but I can tell he's already visualising what could happen in the arena: the blood, the screams, and the death.

I cast my mind over to Daniel. He'll be alone in our cabin right now, willing me to move on and to win. Somehow, I know he'll be waiting for me to come home. I can do this. I have to. What other choice do I have? Isabelle swims into my mind. She won't have to fret over paying us money if I win this. Daniel and I can live peacefully in the Victors Village, and we won't have to worry any more. Life will be much better. Maybe I won't die of lung cancer like my Mother did.

Even if I get back home, I know that I will have changed. Seeing all of the blood splattering in front of me will probably scar me for life. The delicate halo of innocence around me will fracture and shatter with every cannon, every drop of blood spilt, every _goddamn _death. So many have died, and so many more will have to die. I just really hope that I won't be the one in that position. I don't want to die. At least, not like this.

I look across at David, who meets my eyes. I can see myself in his eyes, and my face matches his expression. Both of us look exhausted. We're probably de-energised by training, but if anyone else knows better, we are already tired of these Games. We all know what's going to come next. The same question circles in every tribute's mind: even the careers' minds too.

_Will I be dead in the next few days? _

I don't know. Nobody knows. But if it's anything I know, I'm not going down without a fight.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Franz Wight, Twelve years old, District Three Male.<strong>

Hands trembling, I fail yet again at tying a simple fisherman's knot in the rope in my hands. Continuous tears roll slowly down my face, dampening my pale cheeks. I can't do this. I can't do anything. I can already see people's judging looks as they pass on by. _He's a bloodbath. He'll die first._

I'm scared. So, so scared. The careers lift their hefty weapons, and laugh like evil masterminds; other tributes are like shards of ice, almost emotionless in their gaze as they label me as an easy target. The runt of the litter. That's what I am to them. But how can I show them that they are so wrong?

Okay. I'm twelve. I'm weak. I'm not good with weapons or survival skills. I'm clumsy from time to time. But surely there must be something I'm good at?

Giving up with knot tying, I decide to go over to the berries station. I barely ever go near the weapons stations, because I'm always afraid that the careers will come and bully me. Even I know that they'll be worse than the ones at home. They might as well be death himself, because one of them will probably kill me in the bloodbath. I wipe away more tears that continue to fall, dripping onto my dampened hands at the pace of my frantic heartbeat.

I haven't stopped crying since I got reaped. I swear I'll dehydrate or something if I'm not careful. I look around at all of the other tributes. I was hoping for an alliance, but seen as I'm an obvious bloodbath, nobody seems to want to bother with me. Well, actually, that's not very true. Shaune Greyson, the boy from District Five keeps on trying to gain eye contact with me as if he wants to talk to me or something. I wouldn't have minded if his stare wasn't so creepy; I feel like I'm being stalked. His hair is white too! Who in Panem would ever have white hair so young? Excluding Capitol fashions, obviously. The fact that he looks very strong also intimidates me. He looks scary, which is probably why he hasn't allied with anyone as of yet.

I've analysed the forming alliances around me already, and I've strangely managed to remember all the names of every single tribute in the Games with me.

Hans, Tiffany, Kleska and Taser are all practicing with their weapons and picking on people. Steven is with Massai, who looks longingly at Vella occasionally. Rachelle appears to be alone. She hasn't said much to me recently, but she seems to have some fire in her that she'll use on the other tributes to throw them all off. Adelaide from Nine is singing while Ali from Eight destroys stuff. Skyla and Derek are talking over by the camouflage station. Karina and David from Seven seem to have both teamed up. She seems rather flirty towards David, but her eyes keep on flicking to the other tributes to see if they're watching her. Mariel and Florescent are talking by the knife station. And then there's everyone else, milling around. A few people exchange a few words, but for the time being, nothing's really happening.

Nothing's happening in my world either.

Looking around, I can tell that I need an alliance. I can't survive on my own. Shaune? Too creepy. Steven? That pervy kid is wierding me out. Mariel? They look quite happy and carefree. Florescent appears to be laughing at something Mariel said. Both of them seem to be in a good mood. Why don't I ask them?

I force myself to get moving. Seize the day, or 'Carpe Deim' as Dad would say. For once, I'm going to take his advice.

Walking timidly over to the knife station, I do my best to wipe away the tears, sniffling unpleasantly. I have to look as strong as I can to have any chance of being accepted into their alliance. My sniffle catches the attention of Mariel, who turns around to face me. She gives me a gentle smile.

"Hi," she says kindly. "Is there something you need?"

I nod quietly.

"I-I was w-wondering if I c-could join your alliance?" I stammer. I really hope I'm accepted. It's a tiny chance that someone like me could even get into an alliance. Like, a one in a million chance. But yet again, my Mother's words ring true and Mariel smiles.

"Of course!" she smiles kindly. "Anyone is welcome...other than the careers."

Her smile kind of reminds me of Mom, and I find myself smiling back. This girl is so kind…hopefully there will be other tributes that might join us with a personality like Mariel's.

"What's your name?" asks a younger girl, popping up from behind Mariel. I recognise this girl as Florescent Niesta, the innocent looking girl from Five.

"I'm Franz." I say, rubbing my hand on my shoulder.

"Have you been crying?" Mariel asks, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared." I mutter, managing to lock away my emotions and stop them from flooding my face. I can't afford to look weak. Or at least not as weak as I have been for the past couple of days.

"Hey!" Florescent nudges me with her elbow. "It'll all be fine! No-one will hurt us with Mariel around."

Mariel smiles, overshadowed by praise, but she doesn't say anything.

"Come and throw some knives with me!" Florescent tells me, pulling me along by the hand. And that is exactly what we do. We throw knives, learning to get better and to aim a little higher than where we want it to go to. Mariel shows us how to flick our wrists so that the knives land in the targets. Within an hour, I manage to get my first knife onto the target.

I'm overjoyed by such a small achievement. Maybe I can learn to defend myself somehow…even if it isn't much of a fight, at least I'll try to live. I smile to myself as we discuss which station to go to next. I've found an alliance. All I have to do is get away from the bloodbath, and find my alliance. Maybe we'll get far without having to kill anyone. Sighing, I can tell that I'm still not ready for this. Even now, spikes of fear rip my resolve and my strength to tatters before my own eyes. I'm scared. Strangely though, I feel slightly hopeful as well. Maybe I can win the Hunger Games. It's a one in a million chance, but like Mom said, those chances happen all the time, don't they?

* * *

><p><strong><span>Tiffany Splendour, Seventeen years old, District One Female.<span>**

I rub my aching stomach as Hans proceeds to show off his skills as usual. I think I might have some kind of bug, because I was sick again this morning, and I feel sapped of energy. Luckily, I had thirds at lunch today so I hopefully I'll be able to keep _some_ of it down. I don't need to lose weight before the Games. I don't need to be some stick insect like the weaker tributes, or I'll be cut down in no time.

As Hans continues to mow down dummies with his sword, I decide to go back to the spears station, where there are two tributes practising there; the moody looking girl from Ten, and the scarred boy from Nine. I snatch up my own spears, ignoring them and throwing spears into the targets. Most of them hit the bulls eye, and if not they're close. I smirk at my work. If any tribute has a problem with me in the arena, then I'll let them tell me their problem with a spear through their heart.

A hear a scoff from behind me, and I turn to see the moody girl eyeballing me with both envy and disgust.

"Do you have a problem?" I demand, my black eyes scrutinising her current pose. Her arms are crossed, and the whole of her frame is tilted back, almost as if she is so disgusted at the sight of me that she wants to run.

"Let's just say I'm not best friends with people who like to show off." She replies curtly.

I laugh. Yeah right. Wasn't her ally showing off his skills with that scythe of his yesterday? I bet that's why she allied with him.

"Oh yeah," I tell her sarcastically. "I totally get what you mean. It's not that you're standing next to one."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm standing next to you." she retorts in haughty tone.

"Bitch, please," I reply. "My skills are leagues better than yours."

"You probably won't win," she replies smoothly. "Even though you show off your skills to us now, we'll already know what you're capable of in the arena. You'll never get the victory you want."

"I might not," I admit. "But I've got a lot more of a chance than _you_."

"You want to try that?" she asks, her voice a winters storm, the anger and hurt frozen deep in her words.

"You'll be my first kill." I promise, and I return to my allies. As soon as I appear to be leaving an argument, another one erupts. Kleska and the sassy girl from Three are having some kind of heated discussion, with their voices growing louder with each passing second. Taser and Hans both watch, amused, as I join them.

"What's happening?" I enquire.

"No idea, but I hope there's a bitch fight coming." Hans shrugs, and Taser laughs darkly.

"Excuse me?" Rachelle yells. "I'm so much sassier than you are! Bitch, I'mma win with your head on a stick!"

"Good luck with that," Kleska counters. "But I'm pretty sure I'll cut out your pretty heart and feed it to your allies for breakfast."

"A bit hard when I have none." Rachelle answers just as swiftly. Their words pass to each other like bullets, swift on their feet and bounding in great leaps. Their sentences run rings around each other as their words bounce around them, crashing and shattering in different directions like smashed glass. They're really going for it.

The first form of physical contact proves my point to be correct. Rachelle slaps Kleska around the face, and a fight commences, the two girls scrapping and yelling at each other. The Peacekeepers issued to the training center have to pull Rachelle back, who seems to have spiralled into some kind of crazed hysterical screaming. She is shortly removed from the training centre. Kleska herself looks furious, but she was only defending herself against the attack. This must have been evident to the Peacekeepers, because Kleska was barely touched by them, nor was she reprimanded. Similarly, the Peacekeepers tend to be more lenient towards the careers, so that probably adds to it as well. This is why I love the Capitol. Where are our disadvantages?

With Taser and Hans laughing their heads off next to me, I can do nothing but smile, mentally rolling my eyes. They really don't seem to care about the honour of fighting for your District, only the blood spilt in front of them. In fact, they almost seem like they have the belief that killing is the reason they're here. They don't appear to have any other motivation to win. I mean, I have Essence, and Velvet, and Royce…but these two don't seem to care about anything. It's as if their sole purpose of being here to is spill blood. I know that this is what we're all here for, but I'm doing it because I have to, not because I want to. I have to bring honour to my family, and make my Mom and Dad proud. Essence has to know that she can grow up to be as strong as I am. She has to grow up knowing that I won the Hunger Games. Whatever would she do if I lost? The moody girls words ring in my mind, terrorising me with words that threaten to damage my resolve.

_You won't win. Even though you show off your skills now, we'll already know what you're capable of in the arena. You won't get the victory you want. _

I shake my head slightly, ignoring her words. I can't let them affect my attitude towards the Games. I've _trained_ for this. For years. Surely I deserve to keep my life for doing my best to honour my District and the people I love? That's why I have to win. It won't make me feel any better, but at least I won't let my family down.

I can't really complain after all. I signed up for this. I agreed to the terms and conditions, despite the fact that they probably said, "Death is highly likely."

I've put so much effort into becoming the best career, but can I really use my skills to become the one that ultimately survives? Of course I can. I have to. There's no other way around this. Win or die. Second place is not an option, because I won't be getting an award; I'll get the same prize as the tribute that comes twenty fourth. Death. Cold, dark, empty death.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Charlotte Moore, Sixteen years old, District Twelve Female<strong>

After watching the catfight between the girls from Two and Three, I can't help but to reflect over what I heard. Two was obviously boasting about her allies, which reminds me that now it's almost the end of the second training day. Maybe I should try to get some. After all, hasn't that been the advice that everyone has been drilling into me from Day One? In Twelve, we don't have a victor, which sucks. We have an escort "posing" as a victor, but having an escort to a victor is like having a slice of bread instead of the whole loaf. What makes things even worse, is that our escort isn't particularly nice, and he's very intimidating. He's quite tall, and he towers over me, which instantly creeps me out. I feel like some kind of a bug, where he could just lift up his foot and squash me whenever he pleases.

Icar Lanyad. Even his name sounds horrible, like he's some kind of evil villain, slaying us behind our backs. I doubt he even cares about trying to get us sponsors, especially when District Twelve has only ever had four victors in its history. It's been seventy-nine years, and we've won three Games. I think it's kind of obvious that Luke and I have almost no chance of winning.

Luke is my District partner. I tried to talk to him on the train ride here, but he didn't seem very comfortable speaking to me, so I didn't offer an alliance. I doubt it would have made much difference anyway. Luke is so quiet that I reckon I would still be able to hear my own heartbeat in the arena. Surely he'll have to open up at some point if he wants any allies, but then again, maybe he isn't planning on getting any.

Sighing, I stand up from the side of the obstacle course. I didn't do too badly on it, but I decided to take a small rest to get my strength back.

My eyes dart from tribute to tribute around the room, trying to think of an alliance I can join. I look weak, so that is a downside, but it seems that a couple of the career tributes that have broken off from the pack have decided to make small alliances of their own. You might not think much of this, but recently I've noticed that several of the younger and weaker tributes have gone to those alliances, so maybe it might work the same way for me.

I try and decide who to go for first. The group led by the kind girl from Four has the innocent girl from Five and the cry baby from Three in it. The other group led by the boy from Two has the creepy twelve year old from Eleven tagging along. I've noticed he has this thing with bums and boobs. I'm always catching his eyes wandering to the girls. However, thinking about it, he can't really look at me, because I don't really have either, thanks to my thin frame. So I suppose that hanging around him won't really be much of an issue. Plus, the boy from Two _is_ quite hot. I'm not really sure when I noticed this, but his dark eyes and hair are a recipe for the spark of lust that ignites inside of me. I desperately try to put it out, but it continues to burn. I eventually decide to choose to go to the boy from Two. Their alliance is smaller, and I think it won't be as hard for me to make friends with less people. And yes, I won't be eye raped. I'll be doing the looking.

_Jheez, what is getting into me? _I try to clear my head with a metaphorical feather duster, but I doubt it brushes many cobwebs away. Well, here goes nothing.

I walk across the room, trying to look as confident as I can, ignoring everyone else and singling out the boy from Two and his ally.

Considering I'm small, I realise that more people notice me when I'm keeping to myself. In fact, as I stride across the training centre, nobody gives me a single glance, compared to yesterday where people used to look up at me to see what I was doing. I take it as odd, but I carry it with me, making sure it doesn't bother me. I don't want to be as weak as I look. I finally arrive at my destination, and the two boys before me turn their heads to look at me. I already notice the boy from Eleven is checking me out, and for once, I'm happy that someone is disappointed in my figure. As for the boy from Two, I almost melt under his gaze. His dark eyes are strong, a dark void that somehow releases an aura that isn't as sinister as one would expect from a career.

"I've come to ask you something," I say, pausing for effect. My voice trembles slightly, but I continue after I receive no answer. "I was wondering if I could join your alliance?"

If anything, shock is not the reaction I expect. Both of the boys in front of me adopt looks of surprise, either from my "confidence" or from my proposal. I'm guessing that it was the latter. Who knows these days? People are so mysterious that often you can't read anything from them.

"Sure," says the boy from Two. "I'm Steven, and this is Massai."

He gestures to the pervy boy. I nod, a smile etching onto my face. That wasn't so bad, was it? At least I have allies now, despite the fact that my acceptance was fairly hasty. Maybe I can get to know them better…to make some friends.

"Hi! I'm Charlotte," I reply happily, and I sit with them at the snare making station.

"So, which District are you from?" asks Massai curiously. Oh. It seems like Massai isn't a total creep after all.

"I'm from Twelve," I say. "I miss it, even though it's not that great there."

"Same here," Massai agreed, sympathising with me. "I heard that Twelve is quite a dirty place. Still, it's not great where I am. If we steal any of the produce then we get whipped."  
>I gasp.<p>

"Really?" I ask, and he nods. "That's horrible! We're quite lucky in Twelve, people barely get whipped, even after the rebellion."  
>Massai's jaw tenses. Both Steven and I shoot him questioning looks.<p>

"Don't talk about that here!" he whispers, frightened. "They might have camera's everywhere, and they could be listening to our conversations."

Steven shakes his head.

"They're not meant to take shots of us during training," he told us. "As for listening in on the conversations, I doubt they'd listen to us in here. We're too busy training to talk about anything rebellious, right?"

A small smile tugs at his lips, and I find myself smiling with him. Massai laughs, and I realise with a jolt how childish it sounds. That reminds me how some of us are still children, still young twelve year olds like Massai. His laugh reminds me of children who still believe that the Hunger Games is a game, where they think that the bloodshed displayed on screen is purely fake. I know that the blood that splatters from fallen tributes is real. I just hope that the blood spilt won't be mine.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Nicolo Boone, Fourteen years old, District Eight Male.<strong>

Somehow, pretending to play baseball, and cutting up dummies with a sword are surprisingly similar. As soon as the careers move along from this station, I was at it like a moth to a flame. I needed some kind of weapons practice, and here was my chance to get some. I might as well grab some experience while I can. The trainer shows me some lunges, and parries, and in no time, the sword I'm holding almost feels like a baseball bat in my hands. I guess the only difference now, is that the ball in the Hunger Games is another tribute. It seems easy enough, but my skills are yet to be tested. I haven't killed anyone before, but if I want to live to see Mirko again, as well as Mom and Dad (and alright, my annoying brother), then I'm going to have to spill someone else's blood. While I dwell upon my thoughts, I don't realise that someone else is waiting to destroy some dummies as well. I turn to see the boy from Six casually waiting for me with a bored expression.

"Don't worry," he tells me. "I don't mind at all. I really don't care if I'll ever get use this station."  
>His tone is clearly sarcastic, but I can't help but to smile. If he said that to a career, it would have been funny to watch their reaction.<p>

"I'm done." I say, putting my hands up in mock surrender.

"Alright," he nods. "What's your name? Obviously I can't read, which is why I'm not even looking at the board."

Sarcastic again. This must be an angle of sorts.

"Well, you're probably just being lazy." I point out, and Sedan shrugs, cracking a small smile.

"Ha! Me? Never." comes the reply.

I glance up at the board to see what the guys name is. _Sedan Bristol._ Sedan the Sarcastic. By the looks of it, he can swing a sword pretty nicely, impaling dummies, and missing a few, but getting some good strokes in there. I'm impressed, especially seen as tributes from Six rarely have any skills whatsoever. He finishes things off, and comes over to me.

"So, I've seen your skills with a sword, and you're not too bad." he compliments. That sentence is the first one that isn't entwined with sarcasm.

"Thanks," I reply. "You're pretty good too."

"So…allies?" Sedan asks. "Better make your decision, because I'm being swarmed by alliance requests."

I laugh shortly. He kind of came out with the proposal faster than I anticipated. In fact, he almost sounds like he's desperate. However, Sedan's alright, and I don't have any allies. Might as well get them while you can.

"Obviously," I say. "Yeah, what the hell."

Sedan offers me a smile, to which I return.

"My name's Nicolo," I say. "I didn't actually tell you."

"I totally didn't know that," Sedan smirked. "So, District Eight. You guys must be _so_ fashionable and well off."

"It's alright," I shrug. "Mom and Dad often work a lot of hours, and bullies are pretty common, but all you need is a determined attitude and a good punch and you're set."

"Us Sixers have a _whale_ of a time," Sedan says. "Morphine addicts running around everywhere. Half the kids at our school are already on it. Three of them overdosed last month. Smart move, huh?"

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes.

"Have you had any?" I ask.

"No, I don't want to end up like them." Sedan answers honestly.

I nod, agreeing with him. We continue to work with swords for the rest of the training session, not saying much. Part of that is because I'm a quiet person, but I know that both of us are thinking about home. It would be nice to win, and not end up dead, and I know that I'm going to fight the best I can for it. The end of day rings across the centre in the form of a bell, and I wave goodbye to Sedan and head back to my room. I soon find myself in an elevator with the boy from Twelve, the ditzy girl from Nine, my District partner, Ali, and Rachelle, the sassy girl from Three, who appears to still be riled up about her argument earlier. She was taken out of the training centre for an hour or so before being let back in, and she hadn't hesitated to glare daggers at Kleska, who returned the deathly gaze with ease. Ali smirks at the back of her head. I'm well aware that Ali hates Rachelle for "stealing her act". Apparently she's the best at everything, and Rachelle shouldn't be trying to overshadow her. _Well, we'll see if you're the best at surviving, because in a couple of days, you'll be fighting for your life. _

Rachelle gets off at her floor, and we wait for a while before we're let out onto ours. Ali follows me into our temporary home, in all of its shining glory. Sitting on the sofa, is our mentor, Connor Weaver.

He waves and smiles rather sheepishly.

"Hey guys," he says. "How did it go today?"

"I was awesome; as usual!" Ali crows happily, and saunters off to her room without another word. I shake my head at her actions. She is seriously messed up.

"It was okay," I told Connor. "I got a new ally today."

"Oh, who was it?" Connor asked. "I'll have to talk to their mentor."  
>"Sedan, from District Six." I tell him shortly.<p>

Connor nods, and stands up.

"Alright, I might as well get that done now," he tells me. "I'll see you at dinner."

I try and give him a small smile, but my face doesn't really move. I've got an ally, which is a good thing. Well, it brings pros and cons, but I doubt the Sedan is really the backstabbing type. Then again, I don't really know him that well, so maybe I should just wait and see for a while. Sighing, I settle down on the sofa, already knowing that I'm much better off now that I have an ally by my side. Who knows what could happen next? I go over my strategy for the Games. I've been thinking that I could find a way to make sure that the Gamemakers don't force us to do anything. My general idea is that we could stay relatively near to other tributes, but simply not attack them. Unless we can win of course. My strategy is far too sketchy at the moment though, so I'll have to think about it a bit more. I shrug to myself and relax. I might as well relax sooner rather than later. There won't be any time for relaxing in the arena, will there?

* * *

><p><strong>Is it just me, or is something wrong with FanFiction? I can't get a line-break to tidy up this chapter! It's just vanished from my toolbar D:<strong>

**University (College) preparations have been so hectic, but I really should remind myself to get this kind of stuff done…it's been ages! Don't worry though, I have a schedule planned out, so I will be updating more frequently for you. I leave for university (college) in a day or two, so I'm cutting it very fine! **

**I hope you're all well, and I hope to see you soon.**

**Over and out! **

**~Mental**

**P.S. Last long chapter coming up, and then we will advance towards the Games! :D**


	18. A Murderer's Heaven

**Hello, and I hope you all had a good Christmas and a Happy New Year! My battle wears on, but I assure you that I have a leash in which to tie it back with. I did not ask for any sympathetic reviews or PM's, but I thank you to those who were concerned. I was simply making a statement as to warn you for my lack of updates!**

**I hope I've done your characters justice! (I apologise for Sedan's terrible sarcasm XP). All I ask is that you point out any errors I make. This chapter is shorter than the last, but I tried as hard as I could to get this uploaded on time! **

**Thank you to 212 degrees, Wendy Hamlet, thelastofdavid, EllipticDART, BamItsTyler and Mayasha-chan who reviewed. Thank you to all of my shadow readers as well, I can see you there, and I hope you're enjoying the story as much as everyone else is. Thank you so much for all of the support! :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"The more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in combat."<em> ~Navy SEAL's**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Luke Coloss, Sixteen years old, District Twelve Male<strong>

One day. I only have one more day to prepare myself for the bloodbath ahead of me. I have no allies, and little skill in comparison to the careers. Yet, I'm not too worried. I mean, I _am _worried, because I've got a good chance of dying when it comes to the Games, but at the same time, my worry doesn't consume me. I think that I'm at the stage of the Games where I'm going to have to grin and bear it, no matter what happens. I have to fight hard so I can get back to Thomas. Nothing else matters.

I haven't really spoken to any of the other tributes during my time here, not even Vella, the girl from Eleven. Anyone that's even tried to approach me has failed to make much of a conversation. I don't really know what I do. I just push people away. Meeting new people is way too awkward. I'd rather go on alone in the Games than have someone I barely know working with me. It just doesn't seem right anymore. Maybe if my parents were still alive, I'd have made some friends of my own. The thought of having friends itself is fairly nice, but it feels so out of my reach that there's not much point in reaching out to grab it. That's my problem right now, especially with Vella. I get the feeling like I should go and talk to her, and maybe strike up some kind of an alliance, but my gut instinct is holding me back. I shouldn't trust anyone in these Games.

…But why do I feel like I can trust Vella? I don't even know her. Maybe the reason I feel drawn to her is because of the letters. Thomas and I used to write so many of them, and Mom used to send them to her friend in another District. Sometimes, her daughter wrote some things back too. The name of the daughter has been balancing on the very tip of my tongue in the past few days. I've desperately tried my hardest to remember it, but the harder I try, the further it recedes into my mind, like the darkness in the light of day. The bright searching lights of my memory overturn every rock in my head, trying to find this lost memory that continues to evade me. After all of this hard work of trying to remember the name of the sender, my memories finally give up and surrender the name.

Vella.

That was the name of the daughter.

Could this be the same Vella that stands across the training centre, sweeping the plants test right now? Could this be the girl that used to sit in her house and shakily stencil out wobbly letters in pencil? I wish that I have one of those letters with me now, just so I could run my finger gently over the indents of the pencil in the paper. I wish that I could take my fingers from the paper and see the grey smudges of the lead on my fingertips.

I shake my head. Whether or not Vella wrote those letters all that time ago (which I'm sure she did), it can't be a distraction from training. I need to be ready for the Games. Every minute I waste is a minute off my potential lifespan in the arena. My gut tugs painfully toward Vella.

_Why don't you ask her to be an ally?_

A voice in my head decides to speak up after leaving my thoughts to stew for a while. I steel myself, preparing to walk up to Vella and to ask her. I raise my foot and walk towards her slowly. I can do this! _Can you? _Yes, I can! _Uh…nope, you can't. _

Instead of walking straight towards Vella, I walk past her; my neck stiff, and my jaw clenched. There's something inside of me that _wants _to talk to her, but I just can't make myself do it. Sighing again, I settle down at the sword wielding station. I might as well get started on learning how to use a weapon. I've done everything I need to do on survival for now. It takes me an hour to listen to the trainer and to get the techniques right. After practicing on some faceless dummies, I decide that using a sword is probably the weapon I'll go for. Of course, that's always risky. Most swords are near the cornucopia; I'd have to be lucky to get away with a sword and a pack of some kind without getting any injuries. I look over the dismembered dummies around me. I haven't done too badly. I missed a few of them and I had to swing again, but the trainer told me that I'd have to get used to the weight of the sword. Practice makes perfect, just like my pranks. I remember the times when my pranks went horribly wrong…

A thought strikes me, a ray of inspiration falling onto me like sunlight. Why haven't I thought of this before? Why don't I use my pranking skills to make traps for other tributes? Making deadly traps would put me at an advantage, especially if the tribute was gravely injured (or even killed). The thought of using my ideas in the arena makes me slightly uncomfortable. I never intended my pranks to be made into a weapon, but it _is_ the Hunger Games after all. I have to increase my chances somehow.

Moving on, I arrive at one of my favourite stations: the snare making station. Snares are always useful, especially in relation to the ideas flooding my mind. Using wires and ropes to make traps could get me both food, and a kill count, even if I'm not too keen on the feeling of actually carrying it out.

_This is all for Thomas. _I remind myself. I have to get back to him! I can't die here. Who would he have to take care of him? I cast my mind back to the reapings. I wonder if he's eaten the rest of that cranberry pie yet. I hope he's eating well. I don't want him to end up starving himself because he's too busy worrying about me. It'll be like my parents all over again. I cast these thoughts aside; I don't want to remember what happened in the past, for my present is bad enough as it is.

Even if I end up alive at the end of all of this, I'm still going to be a murderer.

Taking one last look at Vella, I settle down at the snare station. I seem to have trouble keeping my eyes from her. It's as if I have a reason to protect her, just like I would protect Thomas. I force myself to get to work on making more traps, causing Vella to evaporate from my mind's intense focus.

I must get back to Thomas, and I'll do it in every way I know how.

Even if I have to use my pranks to kill more than just rabbits.

Even if that means that I might have to kill Vella.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Ali Combs, Seventeen years old, District Eight Female<strong>

The fight yesterday was some show. I was tempted to join that little brawl between the girls from Two and Three, but I simply observed them. I must admit, both of them are reasonable in an argument, but I let them have their battle. After all, I couldn't just walk in and win the argument for no reason; that'll just make me more noticeable and paint a bigger target on my back than I already need. Look at it this way: I'm smart, sexy, strong, and not to mention, I've killed my grandfather. I'm a victor slayer. They think that they're better than I am? Those dumb careers are going to be battling for kills, because I've already got a one up on them.

I eye them up, analysing them. The boy from One. Dark, dangerous, and talented. Not better than me though. The girl from One. She looks like a tree. She's nothing fancy. The girl from Two. She's a pipsqueak, with more bark than bite. An easy kill. The boy from Four.

Wait, where the hell is the weirdo from Four?

"Like what you see?" someone whispers from behind me, the cold voice sending shivers of fear up my spine. I resist those though, and turn to see Four. His eyes gleam like emeralds, but they are darker than one would expect. They beg for blood, for destruction.

"Yeah, I do," I reply confidently. "Look at them. They're no match for my skills. I wonder why you've stayed with them all this time."

Four chuckles darkly.

"I have my plans for them when the time comes," he tells me. "I'll rip out their hearts, and feast on their blood. It's not too bad a taste if you ask me."

My heart thumps louder, but I stand my ground. I'm better than this guy.

"Why don't you use it to make a pretty picture?" I ask him. "It'll look so much better than all over you. Plus, you won't look like the massive psycho you already are."

Four smirks.

"You call that an insult?" he drawls. "I'll cut you up, ever so slowly, and force feed you your own body until you can't eat anymore. Then I'll leave you to bleed out. How about that, victors child?"

A chill freezes my blood, and I feel my eyes widen slightly.

"Yes, I know who you are," Four tells me, leaning against the wall. "Only a victors child would wear such a posh dress to the reaping. Not to mention, you're probably self obsessed, stupid, and a slut."

I hiss as his words.

"I am so much better than you," I spit. "Just wait until I cut your little head off. And for your information, I'm the granddaughter of a victor."

Four checks his surroundings, before grabbing my neck and squeezing it. I don't move, in shock of the lack of breath that I'm experiencing.

"Even I know that I can't kill you here," Four informs me as I gasp. "Taser told me that. But don't worry, little girl. I'll make sure your death is painful. _Very_ painful."

He squeezes hard around my trachea, causing me to choke, before he drops me and walks back to his pack. I catch my breath, massaging my throat as my ally walks up to me. Well, she insisted that I call her Addie, but I don't particularly care. I'll only hold on to her as long as I need her. And that's the bloodbath. She'll be a good decoy so that I can take down the rest of the careers while they're distracted. As for Four…

The feeling of fear moves restlessly in my gut. I already know what I'll do to him.

_I'll stay away for as long as I can._

"Hey, are you okay?" Addie chirps, concerned, watching my face. She may be innocent and fairly thick, but even she can pick up that something is wrong.

"Just a sore throat." I get out, and she shrugs, taking me by the hand and leading me to the next station. I see that this station revolves around axes.

Addie tries to lift one, but fails miserably. I, being smart, make myself look strong by picking up the twin tomahawks and handing one to her. I look over to the careers who stand a couple of stations from us. They're practicing with bows and arrows, and all of them are laughing. I scan my eyes from the missing members of their pack. The boy from Two is revolving around the mines station; the one nobody really goes to. He's with his pathetic excuse for allies: a puny boy, and some girl who looks like a stick insect. The girl from Four has her own little fan club as well. She's working with the cry baby, and Addie's twin, the dumb one from Five. They're not really twins, but they might as well be. Both of them probably tie for the Most Stupid Tribute Here award. I chuckle to myself. These so called "Alliances" are pushovers. Easy kills, easy sponsors.

I look at the tomahawk in my hands, deadly sharp and gleaming silver. A red grip is fastened around the handle of the weapon, and it smiles at me.

_What are you waiting for?_ it tells me. _Throw it._

I look up, finding the careers fifteen or so metres away, aiming at targets with bows and arrows. The poor trainer has been rudely shoved out of the way. With a smirk on my lips, I take aim, throwing the tomahawk directly at the archery targets. To my immense surprise, I get lucky. I've never trained with any kind of weapon before, but the tomahawk sinks into the bullseye of the archery target. The careers all face me, and I shoot them a snarl. The boy from One looks mildly impressed. The girl from One snarls back competitively, while the girl from Two simply examines her fingernails in mock boredom, before staring at me in ridicule. Four's eyes latch onto me, and he offers me the most chilling smile he can muster. As if his hands are around my neck again, I make a sort of small choking sound as I forget to breathe, purely out of fear. The career pack laughs and moves on, Four watching me the longest before turning away. His eyes clearly tell me that I'm a target for him. No worries. I'm better than him, no matter what he says or what he threatens me with. It'll be him that will lose his head eventually, I'm sure of it.

And I'll make sure that happens.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Sedan Bristol, Seventeen years old, District Six Male<strong>

I didn't sleep well last night. I was too busy thinking about home. I don't miss them. Obviously. I tossed and turned in my sleep, as restless as crickets in the night, whistling away. Even the luxurious squashy feel of the Capitol bed beneath me didn't send me off to sleep.

Someone taps my shoulder, bringing me back to the present. It's Nicolo, my newest ally. He's not too bad. He likes to be relatively quiet, but I don't mind too much. We get along fairly well.

"Yeah?" I ask him.

"It's the last day of training today," Nicolo says. "I was wondering if you wanted to try out any weapons of interest."

I raise an eyebrow. Yesterday, both of us practiced with a sword, and both of us were pretty good. Why would we need to try out any other weapons?

"Yeah, I totally want to." I tell him sarcastically.

Nicolo shakes his head.

"I'm being serious, Sedan," he implores. "I think I could do better with some throwing knives or a javelin or two."

I cave in, crumbling under Nicolo's eroding demand. Ah, what the hell. Why not? I give him a tired nod, following him to the spear station. Upon the racks, lie spears of all sizes. I catch my eye on a harpoon and a lance, as well as a javelin. The javelin that Nicolo picks up is around two metres in length, its end tipped in a silvery barb that promises pain and thirsts for blood. Yep. I wouldn't mind getting impaled by one of those. He brings the javelin down and readies his stance; all of the muscles tense in his body, frozen and locked into place, only to be freed by the key. The key, or in this case, the angle of Nicolo's arm, points directly at the target. With a small grunt, Nicolo throws it with all of his might. The javelin hurtles towards the board, and completely misses. Not. It hits the direct centre of the target, half of the javelin tearing through the board. The trainer appears to be impressed.

A slow clap can be heard from behind us, and both Nicolo and I turn around, spotting two more tributes. One is a female, with dark brown hair and moody features, while the other is a quiet looking boy with hands covered in marbled scars. They shine in the artificial light above us, gleaming mysteriously. I really want some scars of my own. I would really enjoy the sensation of getting them. I shake my head at my own overused sarcasm. I use it so much that it has become ingrained in my brain like a seed to soil. It is rooted there, stemming out and bearing its fruit; my sarcastic tone of voice and the words I choose to express it. This seed of sarcasm has pretty much taken over my mind, but I know that I can use this to my advantage in the arena to make sure I keep my sanity. I'm obviously going to remain sane though, aren't I? Totally. Yep, I am.

"I have no idea who you are."

My sarcastic drawl fills the gap between our pairs as the girl takes me in. She looks us over, sizing us up. I recognise them both as the girl from Ten and the boy from Nine.

"Don't mind him," Nicolo explains. "He likes to be sarcastic."

"Nope," I smirk, dodging Nicolo's playful punch. "What do you guys want?"

The boy speaks first, but he seems awkward, as if social skills aren't his forte.

"We saw your skills yesterday, and Nicolo's throw just now," the boy from Nine says. "And we thought that you guys could be pretty useful in the arena."

I snort.

"Yeah, we're useless," I lie. "What do you want from us?"

The girl from Ten glares at me fiercely, a clipped tone to her voice as she answers me.

"We were wondering if you were up for an alliance," she explains. "We think that the four of us would do a lot better if we all teamed up. We'd make some serious competition."

Nicolo looks to me, as if he is a soldier following my command. It appears that he has nominated me as the leader of our duo.

"Show us how amazing you are with your flawless skills, and we'll consider it." I reply. Ten's glare looks as if she could turn us to cinders within seconds, and Nine narrows his eyes slightly. They glance at each other, and they hold the others gaze for a moment before nodding. They've come to a conclusion.

"Alright then." Nine says simply with an air of finality.

I make a quick scan of the training centre to see what the other tributes are up to. It _obviously_ hasn't been a habit of mine. The careers linger around the knife-throwing station, laughing as usual. The girl from Eleven is catching several eyes as she beats the trainer into submission with her fists. I notice that a certain pair of eyes linger on her for far too long. The Eleven boy. Totally not creepy at all. The boy from Twelve is sticking at the snares station, and he seems to be very concentrated on his work. I haven't really seen much of him. He always appears to blend into the background, because he is _such_ a threat. I've barely seen him. Maybe it's because we've all been focussing on training that he hasn't really been that noticeable.

We follow Ten to the plants station, where she shows us her extensive survival skills. I'm actually impressed. She sweeps the plants test with a perfect score, and she conjures up a fire in five minutes. She's not too bad with camouflage and other survival skills either. Nine shows us similar things, but he is a lot shakier and less practised. It's obvious that the girl from Ten must have taught him these things. The boy from Nine then shows us his skills with a sickle. He hacks the dummies to pieces almost gracefully, his arm swinging like a pendulum, ticking down the time left for the dummies to remain untouched.

After they finish showing their skills, I take Nicolo to one side to discuss the alliance.

"What do you think?" I ask him.

"I think they're decent," he replies. "It'll be useful to have someone with a bit of survival knowledge on our side."

I nod, agreeing.

"We'll have to watch out for the moody girl," I warn him. "She's so harmless."

Nicolo shakes his head at my tone, a smile gracing his lips.

"She shouldn't be too much of a problem when the time comes."

Our decision made, we walk back to the duo.

"So, allies or not?" the girl from Ten enquires. For once, she doesn't sound rude, just blunt.

"Allies," Nicolo confirms, smiling warmly at the other two. "I'm Nicolo."

The boy from Nine nods back at Nicolo, and answers quietly.

"I'm Derek." He says.

"Skyla." The girl from Ten says, spitting out her name as if it's a curse.

"My name's totally not Sedan. Nope." I tell them, smirking. Derek appears to get my sarcasm, because he smiles a bit, but Skyla just ignores my comment.

How this will turn out will be very interesting indeed, but I know for a fact that we have a decent alliance. Maybe one of us will be a victor this year…

I really hope it's me.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Kleska Giori, Fifteen years old, District Two Female<strong>

I fling another one of my knives carelessly into the target ahead of me, not even caring when it missed the centre a little. I'm bored of this. Can't we just get over and done with training and all of the formalities, and just start the bloodbath? I want to win, get home, and be able to support my family for the rest of my life. I don't care about mindlessly killing the tributes around me, but at the same time, it's not something that I want to do. It's just a necessary thing. I _have _to do it. Mom may have gotten a better wage recently, but we're still struggling. If I win, I could support the family, and Mom could live the rest of her life in peace. Al and Lydy could grow up and volunteer for the Games if they want, or they could just go to school and grow up to have families of their own. I only ever wanted the best for my family, and as soon as I began training, I knew that this was what I wanted to do. I had to win for our family.

I'm not too worried. Most of the competition here is fairly simple. My plan for the Games has already been set in motion, so now I need to keep an eye out for distinct threats. Find the threats, find your kill. Eliminate those threats, and you win. Obviously, the other careers are threats themselves, but I'm their ally at the moment. Plus, the careers aren't the only tributes that seem dangerous. Shaune, the white haired boy from Five, is massive. He'll be one to watch out for. He even declined the invitation to our alliance, which was interesting. Why wouldn't you want to ally with the strongest tributes in the Games? Then we have our two missing careers. A career pack is traditionally made up of six tributes, not four. Mariel from Four and Steven from Two have made their own packs against our alliance, so they could cause us quite a problem; especially seen as Steven has made a vow to eliminate the careers and send a kid from another District home. Then you have Vella, the girl from Eleven. At first, she seemed fairly harmless, but now, she's like a small thorn in my side. I saw her using those knuckle-dusters; she's fought before, and she seems fairly confident with them too. Finally, we have the boy from Six, called Sedan, who's joined up with some other, weaker tributes. He's not massively muscular, but he's fairly toned, and that enough reminds me that I was right to mark him as a threat when I saw his reaping on the train.

Yet, as much as each of these tributes are threatening, I can still finds ways in which I can kill them all. Shaune and Sedan may be strong, but they'll be slower than I am. Mariel is weak and too trusting; I could come into her alliance and stab her in the back when she least expects it. Vella's punches are no match for my knives. Even the careers are people I can take.

Another knife embraces the target, this time in the middle. My eyes flicker from tribute to tribute, like the flame of a candle. Some tributes appeared to have given up before, but now some of them are training hard, squeezing every last minute of learning into their last day in the training centre. Each of them are also like the flames of a candle, and so am I. One by one, our flames will flicker and die as the heat of life evaporates from our broken bodies. I aim to watch that flame die in every eye, to watch those crystalline tears fall into the dust beneath each tribute as I kill them one by one. What can a life buy? Not much. Maybe a family. A bloodline. A future source of income. The loss of twenty-three flames for the three flames of Mom, Al, and Lydy. It seems unfair, doesn't it? To kill twenty-three to save three of my own can be seen as quite selfish. I can't afford to think like that though. I have a family to return to and a District to make proud. I'll win for them, not only because I can, but because I must.

A glint of red catches my eyes as Rachelle, the girl from Three, trains vigorously with her dual hatchets, her hair bouncing as she leaps towards some dummies. She's given me so many death glares that I'd be surprised if she wouldn't be trying to kill me when the bloodbath begins. She's thinks she's sassy. She thinks she's cool. Her act is wearing really thin. Why does she think that she can be confident when I took her down yesterday? She got what was coming to her. I busted her up well enough to score a few bruises, but to be fair, I only hit her back in self-defence. If I had been trying to kill her, she wouldn't have survived for much longer. I have a scratch to my hip, and a bruise to my arm, but both of those are small. It's not surprising how I'm better than her. She'll be dead soon enough though, along with everyone else. I might consider keeping her alive for the drama…well, I considered it for a second. That counts for something, right?

Tiffany from One sidles up to me. She looks like she wants to talk, so it looks like I'll have to leave my knives for now. They weren't providing me with much entertainment anyway.

"What do you want, Tiff?" I ask her. Tiffany and I are on good terms. Both of us think that Hans and Taser are slightly psycho, and to be honest, it's nice to have a girl around who understands what honour means.

"I was wondering if you had a target for the bloodbath?" she questions.

"A target?" I say. "How about everyone?"

"I mean a specific tribute," Tiffany explains. "The one you're planning on eliminating first."

I fold my arms and raise an eyebrow.

"Why would you want to know that?" I query. This is odd behaviour. I don't have a particular tribute; I'm just planning on killing all of them and getting out of here. Isn't that what everyone else wants?

"Just so we know who not to kill," Tiffany shrugged. "Then we don't have to waste time finding more tributes."

I smirk. That's actually a pretty good idea. I study the tributes intently, Rachelle is a good choice, but there are other threats that would do well with being eliminated early.

"I'm not sure," I admit. "I'll tell you guys later?"

Tiffany nods.

"Be prepared, Kleska," she warns me. "There's not much longer before our lives will be in danger; even if you're a career."  
>She turns and walks away, presumably to cram in some more training before the lunch bell sounds. I practice a little more with my knives, not really having much else to do. All of the careers have split up to focus on their individual strengths for the training sessions. I plan on doing well. I want to be able to impress my alliance. I'm fifteen, while the others have at least two extra years of experience on me. I need to prove to them that I'm no weakling.<p>

As the lunch bell resounds in my ears, I launch the last of my knives into the bullseye. I'm ready for this…I can feel it in my bones. Now I just have to make a good impression before things begin to heat up.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Zest Churna, Thirteen years old, District Six Female<strong>

I'm having a blast! The Capitol is cool, the food is cool, the people are cool…what else could I ask for? I'm having a great time, even though I know that in a couple of days, I'll be fighting for my life. But really, who cares? You have to remain as positive as you can when you're in the Games, because if you're unhappy, then you won't be able to stay focussed.

I fly up the climbing net with ease. I feel like a bird, spreading her wings and feeling the wind in her feathers. I've been dominating the climbing net for the past few days, because I'm not sure what else to learn. I know that if I manage to hide in the trees, then hopefully everyone will be killed off and I'll walk out there a victor! That's my fabulous plan: be positive and stay alive.

Aha! There's the catch! I'm going to need allies if I have any hope of surviving. I can't take this as a solo mission. I'm going to need to spread my happiness with other people, so that they can't help but to be allies with me.

There they are, my targets, like sitting ducks across the room. I float down the last rungs of the climbing net, and I walk towards the group. I don't know their names, but I know one of them comes from District Two, and he's a career. Or was, anyway. Luckily, he left the pack and he's helping people. So why can't I see if I can join?

I'm not sure how to approach the subject, so I'm going to do what Zest does best. That means I'll be asking them outright. What's the point in being vague and boring, when you can be happy and bright?

I stop a couple of metres from the group, who are at the knot tying station, their hands curled around thick pieces of rope, twirled and bound together to make a useful material. They were talking before, but all three of them spot me and watch me silently.

It's slightly awkward, but I don't mind!

"Hi!" I greet them. "I'm Zest from District Six! I was wondering if I could join your alliance? I can climb really high and look around for other tributes so we can get away from them."

A flame of interest sparks in the eyes of the boy from Two, and he hesitates slightly before speaking.

"Well, Zest, you're welcome to join us," he says. "I'm Steven, and this is Massai, and Charlotte."

Steven gestures to Massai, a strange and sneaky little guy who's kinda cute! Then there's Charlotte who's really thin. She doesn't look like she eats much, but hopefully she can eat lots more now she's in the Capitol.

"Thanks!" I chirp. "It's nice to meet you all."

I plop down beside them and listen to their conversation, which is currently set around the careers.

"So how are we going to deal with the careers?" Charlotte prompts Steven. "If any of us are going to win, then they're going to have to be eliminated."

Steven tilts his head slightly, and moves his arm, which has something colourful on it that I can't see. I tilt my head as well, trying to see what the picture is.

"I'll deal with them," Steven replies. "I have a few ideas concerning some weapons that can cause some damage. I'm hoping that there might be a couple in the arena, but it's highly unlikely."

"Didn't you say that you could make some for the training session?" Massai questions.

Steven nods.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I'm planning on making some so that the Gamemakers might realise that they need to add in a couple more weapons. If not, then I'm pretty much screw- um, dead."

I'm too busy focussing on the colours on Steven's arm to pay full attention to what he's saying. As he moves his arm again, I catch sight of a picture of something, etched into Steven's skin with beautiful colours of blue, white and green. I don't bother to ask Steven about this, saving it for the arena. It can be a question that I'll ask him when I'm bored, or when there's nothing we can do but wait for the next cannon to fire. I'm know that I'm not of much use to this alliance, but at least I know that I'm safe for the time being. I'm sure I'll help all that I can, and maybe I can make a friend or two from my alliance. That is bound to be lovely, making a friend or two in the arena. It'll make me feel better about it, and I'll help them to feel better too!

My mind drifts off as we learn to tie knots. I wonder what on earth the arena will be like this year. The past couple of years have been fairly plain in terms of arena style, so I wonder if this one will have any twists. I'm sure that the Capitol are getting bored of all the boring arenas. Maybe that's why there's a new Gamemaker. I look up to the Gamemakers stands, where I see the Head Gamemaker. He's young, with golden hair and eyes, and he looks healthy. There's almost this kind of glow that shines from his face…almost as if he's had surgery to make him shine like a star. He's sitting on his own, and he seems fairly troubled, staring hard at the floor. I want to talk to him, but I don't think it's my business. Mom and Dad always told me not to get too involved with the business of people I don't know. Still, at least he's alive! He must be happy that he got the job, right?

I reign in my mind and focus on knot tying. The lunch bell rings…well, in fact, it's been ringing for a minute or two, and everyone other than us four have cleared out. It's as if we don't want time to move on. We want more time to work on our skills. We want to learn to be big and strong, so we can beat the careers and be home in time for tea.

Steven eventually registers that the bell is still ringing, and he gets up.

"C'mon everyone," he announces. "Nobody can train on an empty stomach."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Shaune Greyson, Eighteen years old, District Five Male<strong>

I stab the piece of raw carrot with my fork and dip it in the mysterious white sauce served as a side. It's strange how the Capitol have so many different fashions and foods; it's a world filled with a cacophony of unnatural colours and artificial flavours. I study the food impaled by my fork, slightly bored. I guess you could say that I shouldn't be bored when I'm going to be fighting for my life, but I am. I'm just bored of everything. I just wish that I can sort this all out and get back home to Jonathan.

Yes, Jonathan. Every waking minute of every day, I worry about him constantly. Has Dad continued to hit him or not? Has Jonathan decided to run away as he said he always would? I'm confused. I often question myself when I think about Jonathan. _Was I a good enough sibling? Was I strong enough for him?_

My head pounds slightly, banging on my temples like a bass drum. It's uncomfortable, especially when I feel as if Jonathan sits just a few tables away from me. The District Three boy. Franz Wight. I don't want to be too much of a stalker, but I can't help but to follow him and to keep an eye on him. He seems so fragile, and he is the spitting image of Jonathan, only younger. His existence taunts me. Winning the Hunger Games would mean killing Franz to get back to Jonathan. Or would it be killing Jonathan to get back to Franz? It's confusing, twisting my thoughts from ones of determination to protection. I feel like I owe my protection to Franz.

He's only twelve.

My brother is thirteen.

Both of them have green eyes and blond hair.

They pretty much look identical.

This is awful. It's such a distraction from what I need to do. My whole sense of reality appears to be crashing down around me. Ever since I saw Franz on the recaps of the reapings, everything I know about my brother has been blurred. Yes, there are times when I know that Jonathan doesn't come from Three, and that he's back at home. But as each second passes, a shadow of doubt threatens to cast me into darkness and swallow me whole. Are Franz and Jonathan the same person? No, they can't be…they can't be the same…or are they?

This constant struggle wrecks havoc on my judgement. What am I to do? I can't ally with the child, because then I'd have to work with his allies, who I'm not too happy about being with, weak or not. In fact, allies are out of the question entirely. I can't trust anyone here, because if I do, then it'll mean death. My death. I wonder…a sword to the back, or an axe to the head? It doesn't really matter how they'll kill me, but they will. Maybe they'll even make things ironic and electrocute me like they did to my Mother last year. There are so many ways to die, and twenty-three of us are going to have to go through it whether we like it or not.

So I can't ally with someone, unless Jon- no, _Franz_, is on his own. Other than that, I'll work on taking out the other tributes. But helping Franz means losing Jonathan. I won't be able to get back to him. This is becoming a vicious cycle. My thoughts are jumbled, and the pieces of the puzzle are still hidden from me, so far out of reach that I know that something must be sacrificed to get this last piece. My sanity? My honour? My family? My _life_?

I drag my mind away from that subject; I will only confuse myself more. I can already feel myself starting to slip away from the real world, falling into the vivid colours of fantasy. I purposely bite my tongue, making me wince as I remind myself why I'm here.

_So, what do for training sessions? _I think. What should I do to impress the Gamemakers and scoop up the sponsors? I remind myself of the facilities in the training centre. None of the weapons ever feel right in my hands. I'm only ever lifting heavy bars and steel rods, but even the weight lifting section doesn't provide me with much satisfaction. I'll figure something out. I don't have long though.

I've analysed the tributes. There are six alliances, including the careers, and then a few tributes on their own, including me. I know that I'm a substantial threat. The careers will definitely be looking for me seen as I rejected their proposal. The other tributes are bound to want me out of the way quickly as well. My only disadvantage is that I've had no practice. I have a vague idea of what I want to try in the individual sessions, but it all depends if I actually can. If I do well, I'll get more sponsors. If I do badly, these sponsors will abandon me.

I guess that it's all going to come down to tomorrow.

I eat the remainder of my lunch, and I'm the first in the training centre. I'm here to impress, to intimidate, and to kill all of the other tributes so I can get back home. I walk straight up to the spears station and stand in front of the trainer.

"I have a question," I tell him shortly, before cutting him off and speaking again. "Could I borrow one of those metal cylinders please?"

My eyes are fixated on one of those metal cylinders. There are two that stand beside each station, and together they hold up a banner, which tells you which station is which. The trainer looks briefly confused, but he nods.

"Go ahead." He tells me in a reedy voice.

I walk over to the metal cylinder on the left side of the station. It's about seven or eight feet tall, and about a foot wide. It looks pretty heavy, but there's no harm in trying to lift it. I tilt the cylinder first. A couple of Peacekeepers begin to move, but the trainer stops them. A few of the tributes are already watching me; I can feel their stares on my back. With a grunt, I lift up the metal cylinder. It's heavy, but it's usable. I balance the cylinder sideways on my shoulder, and I walk back over to some dummies in the spears station. I warm up, practicing some swings and a typical combination of movements. I don't need a handle to use a metal bar as a weapon. I used to do it in District Five, whenever people weren't looking. I used to just play around at first, but it eventually became a sort of habit. Here I am now.

I swing the metal cylinder into the dummies, knocking two of the dummies heads clean off, as the cylinder threatens to slip from my hands, I twirl the cylinder up and over my head, smashing dummy after dummy, until I feel that my feet are sticky from the fake blood that has seeped into my shoes and socks. Grimacing, I set the pole down in its usual position, offering everyone a smile. All the tributes (even the careers), the Gamemakers, and the Peacekeepers are all watching me. Some look in fear, others in jealousy, and most of them in surprise. What? Didn't they think that I was capable of this?

Well, they do now.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Rachelle McKenzie, Fifteen years old, District Three Female<strong>

Hm. So this Kleska bitch thinks that she can go off and take me out of training, huh? Well, hell no to that! Who does she think she is? My Mother? Well girl, you sure look like my _Grand_mother. I mean, come on! She's tiny, whiny, annoying and a stuck up little brat. I'm surprised that she's still a part of that dumb career alliance.

She annoys the hell out of me. She thinks she's sassy? Get out! She's nothing compared to my sass. She'll be the first going down in the arena, and I'll make sure of it. I've tried my hand in some axes, dual hatchets to be exact. I wonder what Kleska will do when one of those is in her stupid little neck? Urgh! She gets me so riled up, sending my anger through the roof and past its boiling point. I'm turning into this bubbling volcano that threatens to spew lava at those who try my patience. Doesn't that pipsqueak know whom she's dealing with? Rachelle McKenzie. That's who!

I study the long scratches on my arm, courtesy of Kleska. I have a fat lip as well, but it was clear that she was only "defending" herself as the Peacekeepers told me. I got my Mentor, Leila Careton, to complain but she was unsuccessful. Nonetheless, I'm thankful for the help from her. Leila and Franz have literally been the only people who have been decent to me during my stay here. I haven't been able to make any allies, and that only annoys me further. For all I know, Kleska's been spreading lies and rumours behind my back. I'm going to have to find some allies before that happens, because in my opinion, allies are what make or break a tribute.

I'm hoping I won't get stabbed in the back, but I'll take the risk.

I make a swift decision. I have to go for alliances that will easily accept me for who I am. That only leaves two; the packs where they're recruiting younger or "weaker" (_Not me, ha!_) tributes, one led by the kid from Two, and the other by the pretty blonde from Four. My decision is made already. Franz is learning more about plants next to the girl from Four, who is speaking to the innocent girl from Five. I stride confidently over to the trio, my shadow falling over Franz. If I can talk to Franz first, then maybe I can get into the alliance. There has always been an unspoken rule in the Hunger Games; you should be loyal to your District partner, because they're the closest thing you have to home, to your life. Not everyone follows it, but I certainly do. Franz turns around hesitantly, possibly thinking that my shadow is a career standing behind him. His face is scrunched up and nervous, but as soon as his emerald eyes focus on me, he let's out a small squeak of joy and jumps up to give me a hug. As I said, Franz and I are pretty good friends. After he cried at the reapings, I helped him to calm down, and then we just started talking about stuff like our families and what we liked best. He's a decent kid, but I don't have it in my heart to tell him that he'll probably die. If anything, Franz already knows what's coming for him.

"Hey, Rachelle!" Franz chirps. "How are you?"

"Not so bad," I answer. "I have a small problem though…I have no allies. I was wondering if I could ally with you? Sorry I didn't ask you earlier, I had a lot on my mind."

Franz nods.

"No problem," he says, before smirking. "Did you get a bruise on that career girl?"

I chuckle.

"Yeah, hopefully."

The blonde girl from Four walks over to us, and Franz explains things to her.

"C'mon Mariel, she doesn't have an alliance, and she's a good friend of mine," he begs. "Plus, she's a young tribute, she's only thirteen."

Mariel smiles kindly at him, and then down at me.

"You're free to ally with us," she tells me. Her eyes appear to hold some degree of trust in them, so I smile back and thank her. This little alliance feels like the first warm ray of sunshine after a few months of winter. It's precious and beautiful how all of them seem to interact with each other. Even Franz isn't as teary…in fact, since he joined the alliance, I don't think I've seen him in tears at all.

I sit down next to the innocent girl, who introduces herself as Florescent, and she shows me what she's learnt on plants. It all feels strangely…calming. I soon realise that the girl next to me is far from ditzy; she knows her plants extremely well, and thanks to her, I know which plants are the ones to avoid.

"Which District are you from?" Mariel asks, but she's mostly talking to herself, because she looks up at the board as she speaks.

"Three," I answer her anyway. "I never really knew Franz before the reapings though. We met at the reapings and it kind of went from there."

Mariel nods, listening intently.

"I was…friends with someone in my District, but now they're having a bit of trouble being themselves." she admits.

"Let me guess," I say. "Your District partner is that guy. Wait, aren't you two together or something?"

Mariel blushes slightly.

"I am not!" she protests indignantly, and Florescent giggles.

"Raunchy." I smirk, and Franz chuckles a little. Florescent stops laughing and raises and eyebrow.

"What does "raunchy" mean?" she asks me.

"Nevermind," I say, waving a hand as if to brush away something that wasn't important. Trust innocent Florescent to ruin the moment. I return to the topic.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" I say. Mariel blushes a little deeper, and she blows a strand of hair from her face. She shrugs, so I drop it. I feel happy that she has some kind of romantic feelings for someone. Sadly, none of the ladies are appealing on the eyes to me; well, at least none my age.

But that doesn't matter. What matters is that I have an alliance! I must prepare for what is to come. I need to sass out the bitches, and cut down the fools. I roll up the sleeves of my training outfit. I'd better get started.

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><p><span><strong>Florescent Neista, Fourteen years old, District Five Female<strong>

"So, what's the plan?" Franz asks. Rachelle just went silent after she was talking about Mariel getting raunchy with some guy. I don't understand what they're talking about, but the interest still lingers.

"We need to stay away from the careers and survive until we think that we can take them out," Mariel tells us. "That means that we'll be training in the arena and keeping ourselves alive while the other tributes fight amongst themselves. Then when we're ready, we'll fight them, and we'll win."

Rachelle, our newest redheaded ally, agrees.

"I like it." she comments, and focuses on learning more about plants. I like Rachelle. She seems quite fiery and confident, even though she's younger than I am. I feel like Mommy and Daddy (no, _Mom_ and _Dad_) have kept me in the dark about a lot of things, so now it's up to me to find out about it all. I can't be the innocent child I used to be; I have to take what I know and use it to my advantage.

My parents never told me about the Hunger Games, but I'm ready for it to happen. I'm prepared. I've learnt to use knives with Mariel and Franz, learnt plants with Rachelle, tied ropes on my own. I've learnt so much over the past few days that there's no way that I'm going down without a fight. Even my mentor, Nate Scourlion, says that he has confidence in me. It's a nice feeling, knowing more stuff. But there's still a sliver of something within me that wants to break free. I want to understand all of these things. I want to know what "raunchy" and "electrocution" means, because no one's ever told me before. Not a soul.

"At the bloodbath," Mariel tells us. "We all need to get away and regroup. Moving all at once can get us hunted down, and one of us could get hurt or killed."

I flinch slightly when she says that.

"We need something to tell us where to go," Franz says. "How will we be able to find each other?"

"We can signal to each other." Mariel says.

"Maybe we could impale a leaf on a stick every now and again so we know that one of us has been there?" I suggest.

Rachelle makes a face.

"I think it's too obvious and unreliable," she admits. "How about we scratch a line onto a tree with a rock?"

Mariel shakes her head.

"Both of those were good ideas, but they won't really be able to help us," she explains. "How about we meet each other at the back of the cornucopia and then run as fast as we can?"

I nod, along with Franz and Rachelle. It seems that our meeting place is decided then.

"Right, as soon as the gong goes off, I need all of you to grab a pack," Mariel tells us firmly. "All of you need to grab something, anything, and I will go and find a few weapons. All of us will meet at the back of the cornucopia, and we'll wait for a few seconds. If you can't see any of the others coming, then just run as fast as you can, okay?"

"Okay!" I chirp.

"Uh-Huh." Franz says, his voice filled with nerves.

"Gotcha." Rachelle mutters.

The bell for the end of the day rings out around us. I can't believe that it's the end of the day!

"Is it the end of the day already?" Franz questions.

"No silly!" Rachelle cries. "It's time for our individual sessions. Remember? All of the tributes have three days to train, and on the third day, we will be examined on what we've learnt so far."

I suddenly feel fearful. Unsafe. Exposed. Fragile. How am I supposed to get a decent score? I've barely learnt anything. Mariel sees my panicked face and pats my shoulder. Poor Franz looks like he's holding back tears.

"Just throw some knives and show them what we've done, okay?" Mariel says soothingly, and both of us nod.

"You'll be fine!" Rachelle tells us all. "Catch y'all later."

She gets up and leaves, closely followed by Franz.

"Good luck, Florescent." Mariel says to me kindly, before leaving herself to the dining room, where we will wait to be assessed. The Gamemakers are already getting ready behind me, walking around in their purple robes, laughing and talking amongst each other.

"Thanks, Mariel." I mutter, even though I know she's out of earshot.

It's time to see what I can do.

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><p><strong>Attention: The poll has closed. The results are up!<strong>

**Okay! So, just clarifying something here: I have read "The Hunger Games" recently, and realised that they do the individual sessions on the 3rd day of training, so sorry if I cut Florescent's POV a little short there. If you have any problems or questions, then don't hesitate to tell me!**

**Luke and Vella's connection with their letters…what do you think of it? Any predictions? Ali and Taser are certainly coming to blows, but has Ali bitten off more than she can chew? Sedan and Nicolo have created an alliance with Skyla and Derek. An usual group; do you think that their alliance will last? Kleska is the same as ever and she's ready to fight. How do you think she'll do? Zest's appearance to Steven's alliance could be interesting. What do you think of her optimism? Shaune is still alone. What do you think about his persistent problem with telling Jonathan and Franz apart? Rachelle and Franz, District Three teaming together…what did you think about that? And do you think that Florescent stands a chance or not?**

**Next up we have sessions, scores, interviews, the night before the games, and then a little summary of the characters (because it's been too long) and the alliances before tributes start dropping. Less POV's too, so I won't die when writing the chapters this time O.O Stay tuned!**

**Tell me what you thought, and have a great day! :D**  
><strong>Over and out!<strong>

**~Mental**


	19. The Individual Sessions

**And BOOM! SURPRISE! A second chapter? WHAT IS DIS MADNESS? SEE DIS? DIS IS IMPOSSIBLE! OMG! GET REKT! WOOOOOOO! Beware, Mental in his true form. ;D**

**Sorry for the fanboy flail above, I was just excited and happy that I actually updated faster than anyone expected me to! Plus, I have to make it up to you for abandoning you for so long. Did ya miss meh? ;-;**

**I am back again with the individual sessions, covered by three wonderful tributes. Please, enjoy the read, because the scores will be coming soon after! :) (Well as soon as I get my ass goin' and write it already ;D)**

**Thank you to Titanic X, 212degrees, and Mayasha-chan for their reviews, but I'm sure that the rest of you will review all in good time. I mean, its been like, a day since I updated. I understand if you haven't reviewed/PM'ed me yet XD**

**I hear that the exam period is now over, so I wish you all luck on your results! :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

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><p><strong><em>"We meet all life's greatest tests alone"<em> ~Agnes Macphail**

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><p><span><strong>Hans Schmittling, Eighteen years old, District One Male<strong>

All of us wait outside the training centre, sitting on benches and seats that have been provided for us. The dining area has been cleared, leaving seats in their wake. I sit down and gather my allies with me. I look over them, wanting to give them some kind of a pep talk. They have to do well.

"Everyone ready?" I ask. _So much for the pep talk._

"Yeah." Tiffany says, sounding bored.

"Mhm." Kleska murmurs.

Taser just nods, smiling darkly to himself.

I felt like I should have taken more care into learning each of their names, so I did. I have to be a respectable pack leader, especially seen as we're a small career pack. I can still be over-powered and killed, but I doubt that will happen.

I can sense a feeling of tiredness in the pack. I can tell that all of us careers are ready for a fight. Still, we have to wait for a couple of days until we can release our anger, and our bloodlust. I'm ready. I know they are too. But we have to take things the way they are. Training sessions first.

I'm pretty sure of what I'm going to do today, and I know that I have enough skill to impress the Gamemakers.

"So, what are you going to show the Gamemakers?" I ask my pack, trying to formulate some kind of conversation. Most of the other tributes are talking amongst themselves, most likely in their alliances. Some tributes are still solitary, and that pleases me. They'll be the easier ones to pick off. No trouble at all if you ask me.

"I'll be showing off my spears, _obviously_," Tiffany rolls her eyes at me as if I was stupid to even ask her what she was doing. Tiffany's been fairly strange recently. She's had a couple of mood swings, and she's been complaining about how ill she's been feeling. I swear it's that time of the month for her or something, but I know if I bring it up, I'll earn a slap to the face.

"I'll throw some knives." Kleska shrugs. Kleska is an enigma to me. I feel like she's not being entirely truthful, and I'm going to force it out of her whether she likes it or not. I feel like she knows something, and she's not telling us about it. She's a decent fighter for a fifteen year old. A weakling, but stronger than the other tributes.

After all, I'm the strongest tribute around. I'm practically invincible.

Taser just watches me, his dark eyes telling me how many ways he's planning on ripping dummies apart like the psycho he is. At first, I wasn't so sure of him, but now; I think he's pretty cool. I think he has some kind of mental switch thing going on, so I'd better try and keep him dark and bloodthirsty so he doesn't get in my way.

We wait for at least ten minutes before a cool robotic voice addresses us.

"Hans Schmittling, District One, please report to the training centre for your individual assessment."

"Comin' right in." I reply, standing up from my chair and smirking at the other tributes. I walk through the doors, opening and closing them behind me. I make my way into the middle of the training centre, where I wait until I can start.

"You may begin." a voice says, with a tone as smooth as velvet and as warm as a homely fireplace. I realise that this voice belongs to Luca Fawkes, the new Gamemaker. My father briefly spoke to him once before. Apparently, this man is so arrogant, that President Snow has chosen him purely to make sure that the Gamemakers feel no sympathy towards the tributes. Not that it's any of my affair. The only reason I'm here is to win, and I'm going to. There is no doubt about it.

I walk over to the sword-wielding station and do my stuff, sliding a sword from the rack into the hearts of the dummies before me. It comes as no surprise to me to see how easily this sword slides into the dummy's flesh. How exciting it will be for me…to get into the arena and plunge a sword similar to this into the hearts of those that oppose me. For sure, as soon as the gong goes off, I'll take out whomever I need to. The more I kill, the better. Nonetheless, I'll be happy to play their little hunting game if they like. After all, I'm the smartest and strongest tribute in the whole arena. It shouldn't be too hard to round up a few teens and send them to their early graves.

I set out my session in a symmetrical fashion; first starting off with demonstrating my skills with a sword. I do contemplate having an opponent, but I decide against it. My natural superiority wouldn't need an explanation. I then use my traditional silver knives, somersaulting from dummy to dummy, landing on their shoulders and stabbing them, or impaling them from afar. I miss a couple of throws, but I only recover this by scooping them up and slaughtering the dummies before me. Afterwards, I simply return back to my swordsmanship as if nothing had happened.

The Gamemakers all appear impressed, other than the Head Gamemaker, who watches me with a solemn face, as arrogant and uncaring as usual.

"Thank you for showing us your skills," the man tells me, his eyes a burning and molten gold. "You are dismissed."

I nod, and arrogantly leave the centre. Instead of going out the way I came, I am ushered through a different door, where I climb a few stairs to an elevator. I decide to wait here. I'll need to wait for my allies so we can discuss how well we've done.

I'm sure I've done the best of them all.

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><p><span><strong>Kip Lightcomb, Sixteen years old, District Ten Male<strong>

Hans doesn't come back after his training session, and Tiffany from One is called up about fifteen minutes after his departure. I deduce that there must be some kind of door in which Hans must have left by, probably so the arrogant bastard doesn't boast about how amazingly well he's done. It feels like an age, waiting for each and every tribute to have their own training session. I can sense that the Gamemakers are already becoming bored of all of this, and I'm not even in the same room as they are.

I've trained hard, dodging most of the other tributes. A lot of the tributes this year are incredibly attached to throwing knives, so as well as throwing some knives, I've learned to use a one handed slingshot. They'll be enough to stun the enemy long enough for me to escape. I look down at my deformed arm. This thing has been with me since I was born; pink flesh folded together like a piece of paper, creased skin, red and wrinkled. It's a part of me that I find disgusting, and it generates a lot of self-hate. But that's not as bad as the look in people's eyes when they see me.

Pity.

I _loathe_ the pity that gleams in their eyes like pearls, along with their tears of sorrow about what "hardships" I've faced. It's been a part of my life. I don't want your sympathy. I'm not weak, just because I can't use one of my arms. I'm strong! I can, and will fight back! Just because I'm _deformed_, it doesn't change who I am. I don't need to be loved or cherished. I just want to be accepted. The only person who seems to be able to do something like that is my Father. Colby and Calista were always scrambling around to try and help me, but did I need their help? No! I could do things by myself. Even my Mom was sympathetic towards me.

I'm proud of my Father. He could have abandoned me on the streets because of my disability, but he took the situation in his stride, and he helped me to overcome it. He helped me to stand strong against the bullies that threw their insults in my face, and whenever he looks at he, he adopts a look of pride.

He gave me pride, not pity or prejudice.

My Father is proud of me for who I am and what I've accomplished over the years. That's all I need to win these Games, to carry on and enjoy what life has to offer. I might even be able to get a prosthetic arm for me if I win this thing. That would be cool. I'd like to experience the work of the Capitol first–hand and analyse it. I think I'd like a prosthetic arm. I'd value it, like I value my only functioning arm. You see, people take things for granted. When someone loses a part of themselves, you can never experience what it's like unless you're put in their shoes. People just enjoy what they have, and they don't think about what could happen if they lost a limb or one of their senses. At least I can value what I have. And that will be the drive that will keep me going in the arena.

Tributes are called in one by one, and none them ever come back. I don't say a word to anyone whatsoever. I have no allies, but I'd rather it be that way. I don't want people to interrupt my thought processes.

"Kip Lightcomb, District Ten, please report to the training centre for your individual assessment."

Here it is. It's time to show the Gamemakers what I've got.

I walk in slowly, watching the Gamemakers. They're in bad shape. Most of them are drunk or they're ignoring me. I feel hurt. Isolated, almost. Aren't they supposed to be watching me? Only one man looks at me, and that is the Head Gamemaker. He doesn't appear to have drunk much (if any) alcohol, for the wine glass is still full and untouched on the small table beside him.

"You may begin." The Head Gamemaker tells me.

And so I do. My main plan for this was one where I had to specifically ask one of the trainers to set up some kind of system for me. Unfortunately, he refused, so I collect some rope and a few wooden boards, tying them to different places and objects around the room. I ignore everything else in the room, focussing on my task.

I collect a slingshot, placing it on the floor, before grabbing some knives. My hands are quite large, being able to accommodate about four knives at a time. Then I begin.

I stand in the same spot for the entire assessment, launching knives from one end of the training centre to the other, hitting every target every single time. Some were in the bullseye, but many of them were average hits. I realise that I'm not used to throwing knives at these distances.

I then show off my slingshot skills, launching the spherical pellets around the room. I miss a few, but the rest hit my hand made targets cleanly, leaving small dents in the wood.

I can't really think of much else to do, so I wait until I'm dismissed.

After the Head Gamemaker allows me to leave, I briskly leave the room, hurrying up the steps two at a time. I haven't done too badly, so I should hopefully get a decent score. I'm hoping for at least a six, if not more. Even though most non-career tributes only get scores from two to six, I'm hoping to be one of the stronger tributes so I can gain some sponsors.

Either way, I realise something. I could con the crowd out of their money by making them pity me without even having to get a good score. Maybe if I just make them feel bad for me, then I could get more help in the arena. I smile to myself. This is a good idea to discuss with Mallia, my unstable mentor. I just hope that she'll be able to listen to me. If she does, the odds will most definitely be in my favour.

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><p><span><strong>Vella Contessa, Fifteen years old, District Eleven Female<strong>

I've been sitting here for so long, that it feels as if I'm glued to my seat. My body is made of ice; it is frozen into this rigid formation, luring the goosebumps to the surface of my skin, even though I feel no cold. I don't dare to move. I'm too nervous. I need to do well to give the children some hope back home. I need to show that I'm not a weakling. But how? I might fight for what I believe in, right? I must fight to save myself, to in turn, save the children back in my District. Imagine I was to win the Games…then everyone in our District wouldn't have to feel the cold chains of poverty around their ankles, or the fingers of death at their throats. The children would be able to enjoy life for another year. They could be safe…unharmed…

Could this be a legitimate reason for becoming a murderer? If I win, would it not be for the greater good? I want to help the children that are going into the arena with me, but the children back home need me more. I'd rather not hurt any children at all, but if it meant the safety and the health of the District? Would I not protect those I love?

I think I already know my conclusion.

Someone pulls up a chair next to me. It's the blond boy from District Twelve. What is he doing here? We have no ties or connections. I mean, I've seen him glancing at me every now and again…maybe he could be like Massai? No, the boy sitting next to me is different from the imp that likes to watch me. Massai eye rapes me constantly, and I hate it. But the boy from Twelve doesn't do that. He barely even looks at me. He just sits there, silent. His presence is strangely calming. All he ever did was smile at me once, and that's the only communication we've had since I got here. I never trusted him, thinking that he was playing some sort of an angle. Even now, I'm still not sure whether or not to trust him. It's like a pair of scales that constantly switch from one side to the other, like the pendulum of a clock; the clock of my life that is quietly ticking away.

After a long, awkward silence, he manages to say something.

"Hey."

That one word hits me like a tsunami, plunging me into the depth of a sea I've never ventured into before. Someone of my own age is talking to me? How am I supposed to reply? The only words I ever used when I spoke to my classmates were with my fists. Well, I guess I'll just reply with a greeting?

"Um…hi." I say shyly, my tone coming out in a sort of shocked warble.

"I'm Luke." The boy says, by way of introduction.

I'm about to answer him, when I'm cut off by a robotic voice.

"Vella Contessa, District Eleven, please report to the training centre for your individual assessment."

I shakily haul myself up onto my feet, not looking back as Luke makes a small noise as if to warn me of what's ahead.

I walk into the training centre.

The place is a mess!

Weapons lie haphazardly on the ground, and scorch marks cover the floor. There is an edge of antiseptic to the air, as if this centre had been cleaned an hour or two ago. Well, someone's used explosives. Although, I'm pretty sure it wasn't Massai.

I face the Gamemakers, half of which are singing a drunken song, and the other half asleep, or eating food. Only the Head Gamemaker watches me. Relieved, I am thankful that at least one person is watching me; especially the man that makes the most decisions in the Games.

"You may begin." He sighs, obviously worn out and tired after sitting through twenty-one other sessions. And also probably because he's pretty much the only sober guy in the room.

I nod, and head straight towards the plant station, where I sweep the plants test and sort plants into what is edible and what is inedible. I turn back to see the Head Gamemaker watching me, bored out of his mind. I smile to myself. Time for a small surprise. It's time for me to display my skills.

Over the past couple of days, I've learnt to use more than just my fists and some knuckle-dusters. I've learnt to use my feet as well, which can catch an enemy off guard. Most of the moves I've learnt are fairly basic, but they're effective.

I call over a trainer to spar with me, and I collect some knuckle-dusters from the hand-to-hand combat station.

I check the Gamemakers, and a few watch me in interest. I'd better act fast and hold their attention for as long as possible, because if I don't, then I could potentially blow my chances at getting a decent score.

I stand in a fighting stance opposite the trainer, who gets ready before attacking me first. His punch is swift, but I'm ready for it. I catch his punch, and twist his arm around and behind his back, pinning him to the floor. He twists out of my grip, swiping his legs at my feet, which I jump over, kicking him in the stomach, and placing my foot against his neck.

He suddenly grabs my foot, causing me to topple over. He manages to stand up and drag me towards him. Since my foot is so close to his face, I kick him in the nose and scramble out of his way, watching in slight horror as he yells out in pain, blood dripping from his nose. My eyes shine with apology, but the trainer just shakes his head. Then I remember. It's his job.

He swipes at me again, catching me off guard and leaving a dull throb to my shoulder. He sends a kick to my stomach, but I dodge it, replying with a kick of my own to his chest. With a grunt, he stumbles backwards, holding his chest and trying to regain his breath. I decide on one final move.

I hold out my hand out as if to shake his. I can hear confused murmurs from the Gamemakers, but the trainer reluctantly takes it, knowing what move I'm about to perform. I yank the man towards me with difficulty, kneeing him in the groin. As he gasps in pain, I swing him around and push him over a metal cylinder, which lies on the floor. I'm pretty sure that was used by the boy from Five.

The poor trainer curls up into a ball and groans in agony.

Deciding that I'm done, I stand to attention in front of the Gamemakers.

"You are…dismissed." The Head Gamemaker tells me, sounding a little interested. I practically run from the room, my heart filling with happiness. I was interesting! Surely that could give me a score of at least five or six? My mentor will be pleased.

Letting out a breath I never knew I'd been holding, I walk into the elevator, knowing that I've done something that could put me in good stead for the Games.

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><p><strong>If there are <span>any<span> mistakes, then please tell me; I'm grateful for those who support me as well as those who help me to improve.**

**If you haven't seen the poll results, then make sure to go and see them. I'm taking them down when I post the bloodbath chapter, which is only four chapters away. It may seem like a while away, but it won't be! :)**

**So, what did you think of the individual sessions? What did you think of…Hans' viciousness? Kip's pity-hating persona? Vella's determination? Sorry I couldn't cover everyone's session, but no worries, that will be covered briefly by a certain someone, with all of your wonderful scores! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! :D**

**Over and out! **

**~Mental**


	20. Crumpled Letters: The Scores

**I'm back again with the scores! Now, please don't get upset if your tribute didn't get the score that you expected them to. Remember, most non-careers get scores of two to six. Underdogs get scores from around seven or eight. Careers usually (not always) get around nine to eleven. Only Katniss and Peeta ever got twelve, and this year, I don't think anyone had the potential to get one anyway. Remember: just because your tribute got a certain score, it doesn't mean that they're going to die first! :)**

**Decisions on when a tribute dies is based on (in no particular order): the poll results, the detail of the tribute form, how much the author reviews/PM's, and realism. **

**Sorry for not updating earlier, FanFiction had some serious breakdown and I couldn't update! O.O**

**Thank you to Mayasha-chan, Wendy Hamlet, 212 degrees, and EllipticDART for your reviews! :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

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><p><strong><em>"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power"<em>****~Abraham Lincoln**

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><p><span><strong>Luca Fawkes, Twenty-four years old, Head Gamemaker<strong>

An envelope lies in wait for me when I return to my office. I know that I could easily return to Kile and my Mother, but both live on the outskirts of the Capitol, and I have specific instructions from President Snow to remain here for the time being. It would only take an hour's walk to get back home, and I would have disobeyed the President's instructions if he didn't want me to discuss the scores with him later. Plus, I had to finish off my arena. After the training sessions, I had to add a few imperative weapons that would make the games a lot more exciting. Yes, this year I can prove to the President that I'm a worthy Gamemaker; that I'm the most arrogant fool that exists on the face of the planet.

Yet, I know I shouldn't have acted so arrogant last week. Especially when the President has my family in the palms of his hands. He could crush them in seconds, and then they'd be gone, sliding through his finger like grains of sand, lost to the wind to never be remembered. They're alive. That's what matters. That's all I care about.

I open the letter before me, but I excuse my Avox, Natalie, beforehand. She works very hard for me, and I do my best to make her life as good as can be. Removing one's tongue must be both a painful and a traumatic experience. I don't want her to have to be faced with any more pain than she's already received.

I've even given her a small whiteboard and a pen when she's not around others. She's extremely grateful for it.

Natalie leaves, knowing that it's about the time for me to have my evening cup of tea. I was briefly addicted to coffee, but now I'm trying to wean myself off of it, because its been giving me these splitting headaches.

Sliding the letter out of the envelope, I smile. The paper is pure white, and it's thick; my Mother's favourite writing paper. We usually send letters to each other, especially in the times when we can't see each other. You'd think it odd that we send letters, especially when we're only an hour away form one another, but the President _loves_ to keep me busy. I rarely see my Mother and Kile, so letters are the next best thing. We call as well, but I always find letters to be a much better form of communication. It's strangely satisfying and cathartic.

I open up the neat folds of the letter, and I begin to read:

_My dearest Luca, _

_I haven't seen you for two months now, and the house feels empty while you're gone. Honeysuckle has grown outside the house, and I wish you were here to smell it like you always used to. The smell is heavenly._

_I understand that the President has ordered you to remain where you are, and I am also aware that we can't really visit you. I want you to know that Kile and I miss you very much. _

_He'll be eleven soon. Maybe you could make it to his birthday in about a month's time? You'll know how ecstatic he'll be if he sees you again. You'll make his day._

_I'm going to keep this letter short, because you're a busy man with this years Hunger Games and whatnot. We'll be watching; let's hope that you can impress everyone with your creative flair. You always were a creative child. _

_If I could ask one thing of you now, Luca, it is that you must watch your pride and your arrogance. You may think that you can fool President Snow, but that man is smart. I don't want you to get hurt. Yes, at times you can be arrogant, but I feel like this act of yours might slip if you're not careful. You never were an arrogant man, and no matter how many times you are willing to fake it, I know that you are no different than you were when I held you in my arms for the first time. You're a decent man…just don't let your dreams corrupt it. I know that you're following your dreams, but please be careful. You will, won't you? Don't worry about us; we'll be fine here. Just focus on your job for now. _

_With all of our love, _

_Mom and Kile_

_XXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx_

This is the reply to the letter I sent last week. I had to make sure that my family were okay. I told my Mother everything, even about the President's threat on their lives. I must be careful.

My mask of arrogance is simply to save me from dying, but can it save my family as well? I must be careful when dealing with a murderer such as President Snow. I respect the man, but I also fear him. He seems too sneaky for my liking. I have the constant feeling that he's watching over me wherever I go.

I switch on the hologram opposite me. The scores are about to come on. I know that Natalie will have my tea ready shortly, but I don't mind missing out on tea during the scores. Natalie will probably bring a small meal up with her…she knows how I forget to eat sometimes.

I watch on screen as Dallas Cornwall introduces the scores with a flamboyant speech. President Snow "fired" Caesar after the rebellion, because he was suspicious of the man's motives. Dallas has now taken his place. I know Dallas well actually. We've spoken a few times before. The press was very interested as to what gender he was, for he looks rather feminine. Nonetheless, he explained that he was male, eliminating any confusion. There's barely been any talk about it since. Dallas is carrying on from Caesars rather colourful dress, this year choosing his colour to be silver. I smirk slightly. I'm gold, and he's silver. We've made too many jokes about that over the time we've known each other, and in the interview about my new position, we certainly wowed the crowd.

Dallas begins talking about each of the tributes in turn, bringing up their scores. It's strange how I don't need to be reminded of the tributes' names. They stick in my head like glue, never letting go and clinging to every cell of my existing memory.

Hans from District One, gets a ten. He was a demon with the sword and those knives. But he is as most careers are; they put up a good show, and their individual sessions are impressive.

Tiffany gets a ten as well. Her marksmanship with those spears was amazing to watch. It's interesting how these careers manage to be so good. Imagine if you were trained for this as soon as you could walk…I used to wish to train when I was a child.

Steven scores an eight. I guess that's solid for a career, maybe a little lower than most. However, I know this guy isn't a normal career. He's not part of the pack, and he's not built like one of them either.

Kleska receives a nine. She's a young career, but for someone so young, her session was impressive. Most of her knives hit the middle of her targets, but not all of them were great throws.

A two appears next to Franz's face, but what more could you expect from a twelve year old? He tried hard, but I think the nerves got to him. He broke down crying, and ran out of the room. There wasn't much we could assess him on.

Rachelle is awarded a four. Those dual hatchets aren't too bad. Obviously, she's very untrained with them, but we gave her an average score. I wonder if she'll be able to pose a threat. She didn't look like she was hiding her skills, to be honest.

Taser gets a ten. That guy was scarily dark. He massacred the dummies so much that we had to bring in a whole new batch before the next tribute came in. At the end of his session, he kind of came to his senses and was shocked at what he'd done.

Mariel receives a nine. She was pretty good with those knives of hers, maybe not as good as Hans, but still decent. She almost seemed reluctant to come into the training centre. She's in charge of the other anti-career pack. She'll be bound to get the sponsors talking.

Shaune is given a nine as well. He used an immense metal bar in his session, and all of us were very impressed. It's not often that a non-career possesses the strength of someone who'd been training all of their life.

The number two flashes next to Florescent's innocent face. She tried hard, but she wasn't particularly good with anything she showed us. It's obvious that she was trying, but I don't see much of a hope for her.

Sedan is awarded a six. He was a decent tribute, and he had some decent sword skills. He was a little unsure on his feet, but he showed us a lot of potential; especially seen as he's comes from the District filled with morphine addicts.

Zest gets a two. She's a brilliant climber, but that's all she showed us. Her face was bright and optimistic when she walked into the training centre. I wonder if it's still the same now…

David receives a five. He showed us what he'd learnt, with some survival skills and some basic climbing skills. He was very smart about his session, and deserved what score he got.

Karina was surprising for us, and we gave her a seven. Balancing on one of the highest ropes in the training centre, she used an axe and her newfound skills to string up dummies and slice them to pieces.

Nicolo is awarded a six, the digit shining white on the hologram. He was a fairly decent tribute, especially with those javelins. He threw most of them fairly well.

Ali gets a four. She was a spitfire, and she was very disrespectful to us. She _asked_, yes, _asked_ to receive a twelve for her "natural superiority". We refused, and she had a small tantrum. She managed to show a skill or two in the end though.

A five appears next to Derek's face. He had some good skill with the sickle, but the survival skills he showed were a bit shaky. Actually we had a heated debate about his score. A lot of us were unsure of where to put him. We gave him an average score in the end.

Adelaide showed us barely anything. She skipped around the centre and she sung us this song. We reminded her that she wasn't going to get a decent score unless she showed us something. She tried to throw a few knives. We gave her a two out of sympathy.

Kip is awarded a five. He may only have one arm, but using those boards to throw the knives and that slingshot at was a decent attempt. We were impressed. I felt a little bad for him, having one arm, but I reminded myself that I have to be void and null when it comes down to the tributes. I can't connect with them or the stories they have behind each of their faces, because I risk wanting to save them. And if there's more than one victor, then I'll be dead before morning.

Skyla gets a three. She showed us some decent survival skills, but that was about it. She had a small argument with one of the trainers over not stringing her bow right. She seemed to want to make that an excuse for not performing well.

Massai also gets a three. He showed us a few skills, but half the time he was too busy checking out the female Gamemakers. A few of them even had to leave because they felt violated by his stares and bad pick up lines.

A number seven appears next to Vella's face. She was an impressive tribute. I expected this one to be a lot less fiery and ferocious than she was. We would have awarded her more, but she used a few of the less complex moves.

Luke receives a six. His use of snares and weapons combined together were interesting and very good. A couple of his ideas were unsuccessful, but the ideas themselves and his working contraptions (or "pranks" as he called them) were decent.

Charlotte is the last to receive her score, getting a four. She showed us some basic moves with a sword, and I was surprised she could even hold it. The poor girl is scarily thin. I've never been to Twelve, but I don't really want to visit if everyone looks as starved as Charlotte does.

Dallas signs off, and I switch off the hologram. I believe I've made some wise decisions concerning the scores. Now I have a day or two for some freedom before the tributes find themselves in the arena.

The doors of my office open with a small creak, and Natalie brings in a tray. Upon it sits my cup of tea and two cheese rolls. I smile tiredly at her.

"Thank you, Natalie." I tell her with a smile. She gives me a quick smile back, writing on her whiteboard.

_Thank __you_.

"No problem," I reply. "Please, take one."

I gesture to the rolls, and she slowly takes one, nibbling on it as I savour my own. When I first arrived here, Natalie wouldn't eat with me, but I feel like I need her company nowadays. She has an air of calm about her. I'm happy that's she's not so wary of me now. Maybe I'll be able to make acquaintances with her while I'm here.

I sip my hot tea and lean back in my chair slightly, watching as the red sun peeks above the blanket of skyscrapers that surround this building. I'd better catch some rest tomorrow. The arena this year will be a lot more interesting, and I need to be in top shape so that I can work properly.

Setting the tea back on the tray, I open the window, letting the cool breeze caress my face. Everything is going smoothly. Everything will be okay.

However, there's this small part of me, like a shard of glass…it wriggles around painfully in the back of my mind.

_It might not go too smoothly._

I'm not too sure what that means, but as long as my family are safe, I don't care. Kill the tributes; get back home. I shake my head slightly at my own thoughts.

Sometimes, I almost feel as if I'm a tribute myself.

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><p><strong>There we have it! What did you think of the scores? And what do you think of Luca's dilemma? Oh, don't worry, you'll be seeing him again in no time. Did you enjoy the chapter? :D<strong>

**I'm deciding to update once every week, and I'm writing chapters in advance. I might be really nice to you and upload two chapters in a week, but that depends if I have enough time! **

**Have a great day/night! :D**

**Over and out! **

**~Mental**


	21. Bright Lights: The Interviews

**Hi! My laptop has a fan error, so I'm chilling out with the library computers until I get a new one. But, I will try to churn out two chapters in the next couple of days as a form of apology. :P So, we now have the interviews. We don't have long until we reach the Games…oh no, not long at all now. Enjoy!**

**Thank you to Titanic X, WendyHamlet, BamItsTyler, Mayasha-chan, 212 degrees, EllipticDART, Alecxias and HungerG94** **for their reviews! :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

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><p>"<em><strong>Fame is the thirst of youth." ~ <strong>_**Lord Byron**

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><p><span><strong>Karina "Kari" Faust, Fifteen years old, District Seven Female<strong>

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><p>We stand in a line, all twenty-four of us, waiting to take our turn onstage. Tonight is the night where we have to make ourselves loved by the people of the Capitol. We have to draw in the sponsors and coax them into sending us their money. If you put it like that, it sounds bad; as if we are stealing the people's money from them. But then you compare that to the fact that they're watching teenagers kill each other, and it doesn't sound bad at all.<p>

The interviews have already started. Tiffany from District One is out there, talking about her family, and her sister Essence. It reminds me that all of us here are children. Even the ruthless machines that are dubbed "Careers" still have lives at home. Even the eighteen year olds here are just barely adults. They call this entertainment? I sigh slightly, stroking my dress between my finger and thumb.

It's a beautiful thing; a calming brown number, invaded by dark green vines that wiggle their way around my dress. My arms are left bare, and the dress hugs my body, showing off my lithe and athletic figure. My stylists have applied minimal make up, going with a forest green theme. My hair is tied back with a hairband of vines.

When I saw myself in the mirror, I had to admit that I looked amazing. Even now, I know that nothing has changed. Hopefully, I'll attract a few eyes (which would be disgusting, but if I get sponsors from it then I'll deal with it) as well as a few investors.

The boy from One is his usual arrogant self, while the rebel boy from Two is smart and the girl is confident. The boy from Three pretty much bawls his eyes out on stage over his family, and the red headed girl takes more of a sassy twist on her interview. The rest of the tributes pass by in the blink of an eye, their interviews recorded by the neon lights and honoured by the man in silver; Dallas Cornwall. I tune out most of the interviews…I'm too worried about mine to focus.

In no time at all, I'm called over by some people. I hurry over, nervous already, but remembering my angle. I have to be sweet, yet slightly flirty. Since I've been playing that angle the whole time I've been here, I'm pretty sure that I've mastered it.

A woman with a clipboard, ticks off my name on her list as the buzzer goes off for Sedan, the boy from Six. He walks past me, his face in its usual sarcastic expression.

I hear Dallas' melodramatic voice echo across the stage.

"And now for the female tribute from District Seven, I welcome, Karina Faust!"

I walk out onto the stage, blinded by the lights that are blasted into my eyes. Pink spots overtake my vision, but I walk towards Dallas, waving and smiling at the crowd. I make sure to sashay my hips a little, drawing in more eyes. I hate doing it, but if it keeps me alive…

I sink into the vanilla coloured loveseat behind me, and Dallas quietens the crowd. He looks like a coin, his suit a shiny silver, and his hair covered in glitter. Dallas' face is the most confusing. I can't tell if he's a guy or a girl. Shaking off my confusion, I decide to get this over and done with.

"Hey Dallas." I giggle, giving him and the crowd a small smile.

The crowd drinks in my attitude, a few of the men sending catcalls my way. I do my best to blush, although the makeup does it for me, so I let out a shy giggle instead. Dallas kisses my hand and holds it as he begins the interview.

"It's very nice to meet you, Karina," he says. "You seem to fit right in here! How are you finding the Capitol so far?"

_Wow, that is a rubbish question. _I tell myself, but I answer it anyway.

"I'm _loving_ it, Dallas," I tell him. "Everything is so beautiful, and the people are so nice…"

I drift off, unsure of how to proceed, but the crowd covers for me again, giving me a small applause and cheers of appreciation.  
>"But I'm not really here long enough to take in all of the scenery," I add, earning myself a few <em>aw's<em>. "I'm going to go into the arena soon."  
>"Are you ready for what's to come?" Dallas enquires.<p>

I nod, determined, but I play with a strand of hair straight afterwards, turning my gesture into something more girlish.

"Yes," I tell him. "I'm ready for this. The other tributes had better watch out!"

"Yes!" Dallas agrees, sounding impressed. "You're score…a seven! It's an impressive score for a young lady like yourself. Where did you learn the skills to do what you did?"

I give both Dallas and the crowd a sly smile.

"I learnt the skills from doing lots of odd jobs around my District," I tell them vaguely. "But…I did learn a few skills by stealing the apples from a man's back garden."

The crowd chortle quietly at this, as if something's funny, but all I'm telling is the truth. The only reason I got that seven is because of the times where I scaled the wall, and threw knives at the apples.

"You mentioned your District? What's it like there?" Dallas leans in slightly as I bite my lip in thought, and the crowd mirror his movements.

"It's lovely," I whisper to him. "There are forests all around us that we can walk into and enjoy, and everything is very relaxing."

I know I've lied as soon as the words slip from my mouth. But this lie is a good one. They can't know about what my Aunt Anya did to me…how the scars still blemish my skin in places…how my Mom told me she loved me with her last breath. I know that Daniel and Isabelle are watching the screen right now, knowing that I'm lying to protect myself from the pain that threatens to destroy me from the inside out. A tear slips out, and I wipe it away. Unfortunately, Dallas notices this, and his voice dips slightly.

"I'm guessing that your family." He says, and I nod, lying once more.

"I plan to get home though," I say, emitting a small sniff and playing with a strand of my hair again.

"And get home you will," Dallas says. "Karina Faust, everyone!"

The buzzer goes off, and the crowd stands up to clap as I walk offstage, blowing kisses, and waving to them all. I walk offstage to see David, waiting patiently for his turn. He sees me and comes over.

"That was beautiful." he compliments.

His words wash over me, and douse me in a feeling I've never felt before. It numbs my body and briefly tunes out any rational thought. His words are so honest, and so kind. I don't even think about what I do next. I just act. I lean in and briefly claim David's lips with my own. It's just a small peck, and I draw away from him. David is blinking rapidly; a small blush rising to his pale cheeks. His eyes are wide and shocked, but I can tell by his reaction that he liked it.

"…Thank you…" I mutter to him, overwhelmed by my own actions. I just kissed my ally…and I'm not sure why. I'm certainly not attracted to David; he's purely just an ally that I can use to my advantage. I walk away anyway, heading back to our designated floor, not caring to watch David's interview. He'll tell me about it later. I give a small smile to my mentor, Harvard Coil, as I pass him. Tomorrow is the bloodbath. I still have a couple of hours to kill before I head off to bed. I have time to dwell on what's to come. I have time to get scared. Strangely, the worry in my mind has subsided, defeated by the nervousness that my interview held. That's when I realise…I'm ready.

I'm ready to fight for my life.

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><p><span><strong>Ali Combs, Seventeen years old, District Eight Female<strong>

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><p>After the boy from Seven gives the crowd a quiet and soft spoken interview, I walk over to my designated standing spot. We've had all of today to prepare for the interviews, with my ratty escort going on about etiquette, and Connor, my mentor, going on about my angle. I'm happy for a day less of training, because that way I know that I'm one step closer to the bloodbath. That's when the creep from Four is going to get it. In the head. With a mace.<p>

After the simply _atrocious_ scoring yesterday, I feel frustrated enough to beat that stupid career until the mud beneath him turns red. How unfair was that? People should know that I deserve much more than a puny four! Assholes! What kind of Gamemakers are they? They should have given me that twelve when I asked them for it. Nevermind…I'm sure that I can bring it back with this interview of mine.

My attire will surely help my interview to be a memorable one. I'll be one of the most feared tributes in the whole arena! My dress clings to my skin, as black as a raven's feather with a red sash around the middle. I definitely have a show stopping outfit. My eyebrow game is strong as well, ending in needle sharp points. The makeup my stylists have placed upon my face accentuates my high cheekbones and blistering eyes. My lips are as red as my sash. I look dangerous, confident, and so damn sexy that the crowd will be mesmerised by my appearance alone.

"From District Eight, we have the wonderful Ali Combs!"  
>Dallas Cornwall calls my name as if it's supposed to be lit up in shining lights. I walk out onto the stage, placing my hands on my hips and striking a provocative pose at the audience. As the crowd quietens down, I sit down with a purr. I swear one of the men faint and has to be carried out. I see my name on a screen, deep red and beautiful (<em>like me<em>)…so my name did make an appearance after all. I smile darkly for a second, before pursing my lips. I'm one dangerous lady.

"Hello, and welcome Ali," Dallas says. "How are you doing?"

I smile at him widely, licking my lips slowly before I speak.

"Oh, Dallas, it's nice to meet you too," I say. "I am pumped for this year's Hunger Games. I'm sure everyone here is as excited as I am, right?"

The crowd echo their approval.

"I'm ready to slice through every little tribute that comes my way." I add.

"Such confidence!" Dallas cries, impressed. "Do you have any tributes in mind this year?"

I laugh a little, before staring straight into the cameras.

"The careers," I tell the lens. "I'll cut them into pieces and make some new clothes."

"Do you think you can take them on?" Dallas questions.

I snort.

"Can I take them on?" I cry incredulously. "Anyone can take on this year's careers. Dallas, they are _weak_."

The crowd makes a surprised sound, mixed with hollers of interest.

"So, Ali, you got a four…" Dallas says. "What do you think about that?"

I laugh a little.

"Let's just say that the Gamemakers have certainly underestimated me this year," I inform him. "I have a lot of talents. Plus, I've already killed a man."

The crowd goes wild with shocked cries and rounds of applause, as Dallas does a double take.

"Who might this be?" Dallas asks in wonder. The question isn't meant to be answered, but I humour them.

"My grandfather, one of the victors of District Eight."

The crowd goes quiet, and Dallas adopts a look of confusion.

"Connor Weaver is your grandfather?" he asks into the silence.

I make a face.

"_No_," I say, tiredly. "My grandfather is dead. I killed him myself. He was a victor, for sure."

Dallas raises his eyebrows at me.

"I'm sorry, but you must be lying, Ali," he says carefully. "There is only one victor from District Eight…and that is Connor Weaver. Other than him, there haven't been any victors from Eight for many years."

Then it dawns on me. There haven't, have there? Connor Weaver really has been the only victor since the rebellion happened. I can tell that Dallas wants to steer clear from that topic of conversation, but it sticks in my head like glue. So…my grandfather wasn't a victor? I'm not a victor slayer? What were we doing in a victor's village house? Did he break in? These questions turn into a tornado of wasps, stinging my mind and tormenting me.

"Ali," Dallas says, bringing me back to the present. "Do you think you have what it takes to be this year's victor?"

Despite my inner turmoil, my rouged lips spread into a smirk.

"Hell yes." I reply confidently. The buzzer echoes across the stage, and I stand up as the crowd roars and cheers at me.

"Ladies and gentlemen…Ali Combs!" Dallas announces, and I strut my way off the stage.

I barge past Nicolo in fury, kicking off my heels and stomping to the elevator. Out onstage, I had to keep myself composed, but now my temper runs freely. I don't give a shit about anyone else…not even Addie. I'm not a victor slayer? Impossible! Outrageous! Stupid! I will find a way to become a victor, and then I will cut the throats of all those who oppose me. They don't deserve to live when I still stand. I am the best tribute, the victor of all victors. I'm going to make sure I'll have my way; starting tomorrow. And nobody will get in my way. Not even that bloodthirsty brat from Four.

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><p><span><strong>Massai Puna, Twelve years old, District Eleven Male<strong>

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><p>It's my turn. It's my time to shine. It's my time to show them that their beloved Finnick is returning…in the form of I, Massai Puna. Who's that sexy beast? Me! This grey suit I'm wearing makes me looks pretty suave, and I'll be tempting the ladies from the crowds today. The boy from Eight gives a fairly boring interview. The ditzsy girl from Nine kind of just…sings…while the boy is a bit awkward, but he comes across as determined. The moody girl interests the crowd, and her district partner, who only has one arm, gets a lot of pitying stares, which he appears to dislike. Vella is the best out of all of them, wearing a sexy purple gown that exposes the skin on her back, softer than satin and as smooth as silk. I watch her hungrily as she appears back behind stage. She glances at me, before moving off to the side to meet with our mentor, Chive.<p>

"Welcoming onto the stage, Massai Puna, from District Eleven!"

The interviewer, Dallas if I remember rightly, calls my name, and I run onto stage, waving and jumping up and down in delight of the attention I'm receiving. Look at this! I'm worthy of the people's love. Now I just have to be worthy of the arena…which I'm sure I will be. I send a wink at a few ladies, who blink, surprised, but then giggle at my antics. I somehow leap _over_ the loveseat and into the padded cushions, making many of the crowd laugh at my actions. As the crowd dies down, Dallas welcomes me, and he begins to talk. My eyes slightly water from the intense light that is aimed at me, but I quickly blink the liquid away. I'm their new champion. I can't be a weakling, even if my eyes are only watering from the lights.

"A lot of people think you're quite cute," Dallas is saying. "What do you say to that?"

I smile seductively.

"Well, they may find me cute, but the ladies will be finding me somewhere else tonight…" I waggle my eyebrows suggestively, as the crowd laughs and cheers. I can imagine Chive face-palming right now. She told me to be humourous, but I can't keep my charm on a leash. It's a natural thing.

I look at Dallas curiously. Is he a girl, or is he a guy?

"Oh my goodness!" Dallas cries. "Did you see that charm? This one is a keeper, ladies. Yes, I'm male, despite what a few people say."

The crowd laughs at a reference to something, while I realise in horror that the question in my head actually escaped my lips. _At least he took it well…like the ladies will…_

"So, Massai," Dallas says to me. "Under all of that charm, we want to know you a bit better. Do you miss home? What's your family like?"

An unexpected lump forms in my throat, and my voice is a bit croaky when I answer. "I miss them a lot."

I do. I really do. I guess it's just after everything that's happened that they must have been swept from my mind, like a leaf is lost to the wind, tumbling away in the cool depths of the air currents. The crowd immediately reacts to this, making sympathetic sounds. For the second time during the interview, I blink tears from my eyes. Swallowing the best I can, I take a deep breath.

"I hope to get back to them too."  
>"The question is, Massai, how?" Dallas enquires. "Do you have a strategy?"<p>

I chuckle a little.

"Yes, Dallas," I say. "I plan on getting all of the ladies to help me win this thing. After all, they can't resist my charm, can they?"

The crowd laughs, but I frown. _I was being serious…_

The buzzer goes off again, and Dallas holds my hand, thrusting it high into the air.

"Massai Puna, everyone!" he announces, and I wave my way off of the stage, meeting up with Chive and Vella shortly afterwards. Chive fixes me with a look of disapproval.

"I thought we agreed on a humourous angle?" she said sternly. She tries to hold her stern face, but it quickly crumbles when I say nothing.

"Both of you did fine, well done," she tells us, offering both Vella and I a small smile, before leading us back to our floor. From here, Vella bids us goodnight, and Chive settles down next to me on the sofa. I decide to watch the rest of the interviews with her, watching as the boy from Twelve gives a decent interview, while Charlotte, one of my allies, takes a seemingly sweet angle. Chive strokes my head absent-mindedly. Her touch reminds me of…

"My Mother…" I mutter.

"Hm?" Chive asks.

"My Mom strokes my hair all the time," I say. "I always looked up to her for advice…"

My Mom was the only person I never liked the look of. I never found her pretty, but she was always there for me. She was always there to help me to control my condition. She was always there to give me advice. And now, Chive sits here with me, like my Mom used to do every evening.

Chive moves a little. I don't find her pretty either. I don't find my eyes following the curves of her body. Is that a good thing? Is that a good thing that I don't want her like I want the other girls? Who knows?

"Do you have any advice left for me?" I ask Chive.

Chive flicks her black, wavy hair, and fixates her grey eyes on me.

"Be prepared…prepared for everything you hate to come alive," she says. I watch her, transfixed by her words already. "When you're in there, you are never safe. You are never free. You are constantly scared for what will happen next. Will the Gamemakers send a muttation after you? Will the careers hunt you down? Will you die of starvation? Massai…just be prepared, both mentally and physically, for what's about to come. The Games certainly aren't what they're cracked up to be."

I nod once, taking this in and committing it to memory. Tomorrow, there will be bloodshed. Yet, I know that I will prevail. I will not fall to the hands of another tribute. I'm the new Finnick. Powerful. Brave. Strong. Handsome. I cannot fall….it is my destiny to win this. We must give the people what they want…and I know they want me. I'll show them…I'll show them all.

I'm not a child.

Not anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>So, what did you think of the interviews? Karina's seven and her life back at home? Ali, no longer a victor slayer? Massai, and his "strategy"? (I noticed that all the characters were pretty flirty in the interviews. Sorry for being a bit samey! I just felt like the interviews would be a good opportunity to expand these characters a bit more.)<strong>

**I've had an okay week. It started off well, and then I was plagued by down days, haha! I can smell the spring in the air here (we have a forest on campus), and the squirrels are literally everywhere. Sadly, they've cut down a few trees in our forest, because of a rhododendron infestation (a disease that kills plants and trees, apparently). Still, I'm happy the spring is upon us, because it's my favourite season. **

**How was your week? I hope you've had a good one!  
>Over and out! <strong>

**~Mental  
><strong>


	22. Starry Skies: The Night Before The Games

**Hi guys! Here is another chapter by way of apology, haha! This chapter was so much easier to write; it literally just flowed from my mind. This is probably because I've planned this chapter, and you'll see why in a moment. ;D**

**Thank you to Titanic X, Mayasha-chan, Alecxias and nemetb34 who reviewed! Yeah, I know, a day after the last update? I understand if you haven't reviewed straight away. It's okay! Now you have two delicious chapters to enjoy! :D  
>Thank you to nemetb34 and Coolofthecool for their follows and favourites as well!<strong>

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

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><p>"<em><strong>It's the things we love most, that destroy us." <strong>_**~President Snow**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Mariel Tide, Eighteen years old, District Four Female<strong>

* * *

><p>The wind ruffles my hair gently as I stare out over the bright lights of the Capitol. By day, it is a rainbow of colour that assaults my eyes, but by night, it is a world of artificial stars that drive away the darkness. Banners hang from every lamppost, promoting this year's Games as if it's an anticipated TV show. Wait…that's exactly what it is. On the screen, our scores may appear in fancy lettering, and our bodies may be forced to look perfect during our interviews, but really, we're just the stars of the show. Nothing more, nothing less. We are something to be looked at and played with. We are the puppets of the Capitol, and we are expendable; so much so that nobody cares when we're cast to one side, blood dribbling from our fatal wounds. But that is not who we are. We are human. Behind all of the make-up and the numbers they label us with, we all have stories. Each one of us has a passion that keeps us going. We're determined to live, to get back home, and to see our families again. That's what makes us entertainment. All of us just want to get back, so all of us will fight the best we can to get there.<p>

Sighing, I run a hand through my honey blonde hair. It's the night before the Games begin. Tomorrow, I could easily be one of the ones who will lie on the ground, dead. I'm scared. I will happily admit that I'm scared. Anyone who says they're not, are deluding themselves. When you're face to face with death, everyone has a flicker of fear in their hearts that makes them tremble. Everyone is worried to some degree. How long will they live? Will they be among the dead tomorrow? How long will it be before the Capitol have their victor? The shortest Games I've ever seen had a victor in just three days. Could this year be as short? Or even shorter than that? Who knows?

The wind brushes against my face, and my nerves calm down. I know that tonight's sleep will be restless. I may be one of the oldest tributes, but that doesn't make me any less worried about what tomorrow may bring. But focussing on my worry with get me nowhere. I should focus on what will happen tomorrow. If Florescent, Rachelle, and Franz all follow the plan, then all of us will be safe for another day. I'm worried for their safety. As much as I'm sure that we will be fine, I can't help but to think that something will go wrong. Hopefully, if something does go wrong, it will work in our favour.

"Mariel."

A deep, smooth voice directs my attention to the present, jerking me from my brooding thoughts and the depths of my worry. It's a voice I know too well, and I voice I have learnt to fall in love with. I turn around to see Taser standing a few feet from me, his green eyes filled with worry, and his face tired and grave. He runs a hand through his black hair and clears his throat.

"How are you doing?" he asks.

I hesitate before I answer. This…this isn't the bloodthirsty man in the training centre. Those eyes are not the same eyes that followed me when I wandered around our floor, nor are those lips the ones that smirked at me with every movement I made. I realise that this is _my_ Taser; the one I've always known. The darkness inside of him has gone away…at least for the time being. The wind blows again; white petals from nearby flowers drift through the air, yanked from their homes and taken on a journey to an unknown destination.

"I'm fine," I answer slowly. "Are you…okay?"

He tilts his head slightly to one side, as if acknowledging his lapse into his alter ego.

"Yeah, I am," he says. "Hopefully it will stay inside of me, but it depends on how many die at the bloodbath tomorrow. If there's too much blood, I don't think I can hold it back."

I turn away again, looking back out over the splendour that is the Capitol. I'm not sure what to do with Taser. We've been best friends since we were children, yet what lies inside of him is not something that I want to get close to. Even Taser has told me to stay away from him many times, yet, like a boomerang, I keep on coming back to him. When Mom died after giving birth to Annabelle…he was the first person I went to. Taser was always there for me. Now I wonder if he'll still be there for me in the arena, or if he'll be the one to kill me.

Warm hands place themselves gently on my arms, and I relax slightly. I haven't realised how tense I am. Taser was always there to make things better, even now, he continues to try and help were he can.

"It's okay." Taser says from behind me.

I whip around and face him, giving him an annoyed glare.

"You know full well that it's not," I reply, slightly irritated. "One of us is going to die. For definite. No if's, and no but's. There's no way that we can pull off a Katniss-Peeta stunt, so that means that one of us is going to die, and there's nothing we can do about it."

I relax as his green eyes stare into my very soul, non-responsive and unmoving.

"It's okay," he repeats. "You don't have to worry. I'm going to make sure you will win and escape from the arena. You need to be there for Annabelle and the boys. I don't think they'll be able to cope without you."

"But I can't cope without _you_!" I blurt suddenly. Silence comes between us after my confession, but I don't care. It's true. I can't lose Taser. As much as I love my family, I don't think that I can cope with losing him. Life without Taser seems bizarre and unreal, like an ongoing nightmare. Even if I win these Games, then how will I be able to carry on with my life if the man I love is not around me?

Taser registers my words and blinks.

"Mariel…" he begins, but he drifts off. There are a few seconds of silence as he tries to find words.

"Mariel…" he says again. "You are the world to me,"

He takes a deep breath, composing himself and preparing himself to say something that I know has been weighing heavily on his mind for some time. I can guess where this is going to go, but I'm rooted to the spot, numbed by my worries for tomorrow, and the beauty of the words that come from his mouth.

"I can't lose you, Mariel," he informs me. "You're something precious. You're worth so much more than riches and jewels, and you are something so special…something so unattainable, that I wish I could have you in my arms forever. But that is not how this is meant to play out. You have a family to protect. People need you more than I do, and I'm willing to make that sacrifice."

"Taser, what are you saying?" I ask, confused. I'm important? Yes, I'm important in keeping my family safe, but Taser has a family as well. Can't he realise that he's just as important to me as I am to him?

"I'm trying to say that I love you," Taser explains. "And that I won't let you die."

His words hit me like a tidal wave. I'm overjoyed, elated even. I feel giddy with happiness.

Taser _loves_ me? He loves me! He-I-we…

I'm gobsmacked, and my face clearly expresses it. The both of us study the other for a minute, before I realise the he needs to know as well. He needs to know how I feel about him.

"I love you too," I whisper. "But I don't want you to leave me."

My heart twinges in sadness. I can't watch Taser die. I don't want him to die. But one of us will have to if the other is going to survive.

"I won't leave you," Taser promises, bringing his face closer to mine. I've waited for this moment for so long that the anticipation of the next few seconds is excruciating. I copy his movement, and he smiles slightly before brushing his lips gently against mine. It's gentle kiss, but it is filled with passion, a need that's been held back for far too long. I almost feel dizzy from my own happiness. I can smell the sweetness from the flowers, and the spicy scent of his cologne from the interviews. We both go back in for more, hungry for years of missed kisses and opportunities.

He breaks the kiss first, staring down at me and catching his breath. Both of us give each other a smile, and I throw my arms around his neck silently, holding him tightly. His warm arms embrace me, protecting me from my worries and my fears. I love him so much. It's a shame that we had to leave it until now, but at least I know that we've had our little infinity, and I will remember this moment until the day I die.

Hopefully tomorrow won't be that day.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Steven "Spray" Krane, Seventeen years old, District Two Male<strong>

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><p>The night is cool, and it offers me a place to think. After being under the limelight in a sweltering room, the cold breeze in the outside world is something that I consider rewarding. I'm standing on a balcony, just outside of our floor, letting the wind take me away, further back in time to the memories I treasure so much. These happy memories are something that will keep me going in the Games. They will stop me from becoming distracted. With my help, I hope a non-career can get back home this year.<p>

My mind wanders to Zachary, Willma and Bradley, my friends back at home. I know that both Bradley and Willma will be worried about me. Both of them were unsure about my decision to volunteer before Bruticus; partly because I'm not as strong as the average career. But that doesn't matter too much. Where my brawn is lacking, my brain makes up for it. Being smarter than most careers puts me at a distinct advantage. Being clever will allow me to outsmart them, guaranteeing their demise.

Zachary (or rather, Zippy) comes to the forefront of my mind. I doubt that he really understands the Games at the moment; he is way too busy running around from one place to another. Somehow, I know he misses me, despite the fact he's not really aware of what's happening. I know he'll be keeping an eye on the screen just as much as Willma and Bradley will.

I feel sorry for Mom and Dad more than anyone else. I never told them about what I was going to do. I hope they have every confidence in me…although, they don't know my plans. It would nice to win, for them, but I know that other Districts need the resources more than District Two does. As long as the careers are out of the equation, I'll be happy.

I sip at a glass of orange liquid in my hand; a drink that I'm become quite fond of during my stay in the Capitol. They call it "fizzy orange", which I've never had before, but it tastes good.

I hear the gentle pad of bare feet. I can already tell it's Kleska coming to see me, because Helena's walk is loud and authoritative, Gauze stomps everywhere, and you never hear Kian.

I don't turn around, instead, letting my young District partner draw level with me, breathing in the night and and letting it out in a barely audible breath.

"Kleska," I greet her. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Steven," she replies. "No. I just wanted some fresh air."

I don't say a word, letting my mind wander once again. It feels calming, just standing here doing nothing, enjoying the occasional sharp tang of the fruity drink in my hand. I don't focus on what will happen in the next few days, well, not until Kleska decides to bring it up.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. There she is again; an enigma. I've never seen her so quiet. She's usually a lot more outspoken. Maybe she's worried about tomorrow. I shrug.

"I guess," I admit. "There's not much else I can do other than wait."

"Can I ask you something?" she enquires, but she doesn't wait for my approval. "Why did you decide to not be a part of the career pack? Why did you volunteer? Why do you hate us careers for trying to live?"

"That's not a question, that's three."

"Do you think I care?"

I smile slightly, and take my time upon answering.

"You're brutes," I say. "The careers have always relied on their strength and their kill counts to get them through the arena. Most of you have all been arrogant and self-absorbed. But you never consider what lives you take. You never consider that each and every one of those tributes that you cut down, all have families and friends that pray for their return."

"We have families too," Kleska protests, her bright green eyes meeting my own. "I have my Mom to get back to, as well as Al and Lydy."

I say nothing, prompting her to continue. Kleska's frame is relaxed, and she appears to have let down her guard. I study her curiously, hanging onto her every word, trying to figure out this mysterious young girl. Kleska takes a deep breath, and speaks.

"I never knew my Dad," she says. "He fled when he found out that my Mom was pregnant. Even now, it doesn't bother my Mom. She's proud of everything I do. She's proud of Lydy and Al, and all that we work for. I've trained for these Games, because I want to make her proud. The winnings that we'd get would be useful too; we'd be able to feed ourselves easily, and Mom won't have to work long hours. I'm worried it will wear her out…"

Kleska's eyes dart away from my face.

"Each of us have someone that we love, and someone that we don't want to lose. We can't be emotional, because we know that showing emotion is considered a weakness. That's why we have to be so strong and intimidating. We can't afford to look weak like the rest of the other tributes. Yes, we're scared, but we know that we have to do this. In a way, we're no different. We want to get back home just as much as everyone else does."

She sighs, and I snap out of the trance I'm in. I find myself shaking my head.

"You volunteered to kill people," I tell her. "You're willing to kill people…_children…_innocent _children_."

"So what?" Kleska snaps, her eyes narrowed slightly. "That's the way we've been taught! We do this for glory, for pride in our District. How _dare_ you tarnish that by trying to be something more. I'm a child too! I'm fifteen! You volunteered, and you're going to have to kill children, regardless of whether or not they're a career. That's makes you just the same as me."

I hiss, bringing my face closer to hers. My tone is shaky, filled with anger.

"I will take every one of you down, if it means that a child from an outlier District can live a full life. If you even dare to oppose me, then I won't hesitate to take you down as well."

Kleska looks at me, unimpressed.

"It's too late. I'm a career. You already plan to kill me. You may be smarter than the average crayon, but I'm faster. Just you wait, Steven, if you get in my way, you're going to regret it."

"May the best man win," I reply, a steely glint in my eye.

"If you haven't noticed," Kleska retorts. "I'm a _woman_."

She shoots me a warning glare, before turning on her heel and leaving me outside.

I take a deep breath.

It looks like the Games have already begun.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Tiffany Splendour, Seventeen years old, District One Female<strong>

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><p>I sit on the sofa, dunking my spoon in the cold pot of yoghurt in my hands. As soon as I finished my interview, I rushed up here as fast as I could. I was craving yoghurt…but there's something that's still missing from the food before me. I think harder, trying to figure out what my stomach wants. Banana? No. Chocolate? No.<p>

I sink into the sofa, dealing with what I have for now. Honestly, I feel so weird. Just this morning I was being sick (again), and now I'm feasting on the most random of foods. It doesn't make any sense! What kind of bug makes you throw up and gorge yourself a few hours later?

My interview went well. Being the first tribute up on stage, you're one of the easiest to remember, apparently. Plus, I was probably one of the most exciting interviews. The crowd gets bored after twenty-three sob stories.

Everyone has long gone to bed, deciding to take an early night. Royce told me that he'd probably be out to see me in a minute, just to check up on how I'm doing. In the meantime, I'm taking care of my needs. Speaking of Royce, the man himself walks into the room, switching on the lamp on my side of the sofa.

"You shouldn't be sitting here in the dark." he tells me, sinking down into the seat beside me.  
>I roll my eyes sarcastically, and he chuckles at me.<p>

"How are you holding up?" he asks curiously.

"I'm fine," I reply. "Maybe a little bit nervous."

I lift another spoonful of yoghurt into my mouth, tasting the vanilla flavourings in the food. Royce frowns.

"Is that…yoghurt?" he asks, slightly confused.

On the defensive, I move a few centimetres along the sofa.

"Yeah, so what?" I reply grouchily. I feel my stomach start to play up. _Urgh, not again…_

I look down into the pot in my hands, realising that I've eaten half of the yoghurt already. Plus, the pot is not your average sized tub. It's about the size of a large beaker. Royce looks a tad hurt, so I decide to 'apologise'.

"I was craving it." I explain. Still frowning, he looks at me weirdly.

"Okay…and how long have you been craving food for?" he asks.

"Just today," I answer. Then a word comes to mind. "Lemon!" I cry.

"What?" Royce says, bewildered.

"I need some lemon," I explain to him. "I was trying to figure out what I wanted with the yoghurt, and I'm craving lemon."

I dart up from the sofa, hearing Royce follow me.

"She's all over the place…" I hear him mutter, but I don't really pay attention to him. I find my way into the Avox's kitchen, snatching a lemon from the fruit bowl and a knife from the drawer. Cutting a lemon into thin, even slices, I dump the knife into the sink, hearing the metallic clatter as I leave the room. Grabbing a small plate, I sit down at the table, and put the lemons on one side, pouring some yoghurt next to the sour fruit. I dunk a piece of lemon into the yoghurt, and I place it in my mouth. The tang of the lemon tickles my tongue as I chew my new combination. That's better. I ignore Royce, who is looking at me worriedly. What's his problem? Lemon slices and yoghurt is a perfectly normal combination, right?

Royce sits at the table to my right.

"How do you think Essence is getting on?" he asks me out of the blue.

I think of my younger sister, hoping that she's not missing me too much at the moment. I know that I have to make it back to her; she'll be broken if I don't.

"Hopefully, she'll be-"

A twinge in my stomach forces me to cut myself off. I feel queasy, much more than I did before. I feel the bile bubbling in my chest, beginning to rise up.

"Tiffany?" Royce says, concerned, but I ignore him once again, hurrying back over to the kitchen, where the contents of my stomach decide to make a reappearance in the sink. I feel my hair being pulled back, and my back is being rubbed, most likely by Royce. I make a mental note to thank him later.

My vomit stings my throat and it makes me cough. I get as much of it out as I can, before Royce makes me wash out my mouth with water. He gets me a glass of water, and he feels my temperature.

"It's normal." he says, surprised.

"I'm fine," I assure him, not wanting to show any weakness. "I've been sick every morning this week, and sometimes at night as well. It must be a bug or something."

Royce goes pale.

"Royce?" I ask. "Are you okay?"

"I…um…" he splutters. It seems that he's speechless, as if he's been caught off guard by something. He gulps and takes a breath.

"Royce…what's going on?" I demand. I'm confused about this random bout of behaviour. What's wrong with him?

"Tiffany," he says firmly. "Do you remember that night?"

"That night?" I ask, trying to catch on to what he's suggesting. A memory comes to the forefront of my mind, and I remember.

"Oh…_that _night…" I say, remembering. "You don't think…?"

"I do." Royce answers, nodding, brushing a few strands of blonde hair from his eyes.

"But…you can't know for sure-" I begin to protest, but Royce cuts me off.

"Morning Sickness," he states. "Mood Swings. Cravings. Tiffany, I'm pretty sure. I'm pretty sure that you're-"

"Don't say it!" I cry, scared of hearing the truth. But I'm too slow, too late. As soon as the sentence passes his lips, I feel the truth sink in. Those mornings where I threw up, the lemon and the yoghurt, my ever changing mood…it all makes sense; each factor a piece in the puzzle that make up what Royce says next. He pauses, still in shock, before telling me, this time with an edge of certainty to his voice.

"-pregnant. Tiffany, I think you're pregnant."

The news hits me, and I can't help but feel disorientated. Saying the truth out loud has much more of an effect on me than keeping it quiet._ I'm having a baby? _

It all makes sense, I suppose, but the thought of having a child growing inside of me is not particularly pleasant. It would be nice to have a child, but I'm going into the Hunger Games! What if I die, and lose my child as well? Royce watches my face and immediately blurts something out.

"We could-you could- abort it!" he cries, and I instantly recoil.

"No," I tell him, a feeling of unnatural calm settling upon my shoulders. "I want to keep it."

As I stare into Royce's blue eyes, I can't help but to worry about the future of my child. If I get any injuries whatsoever, they could seriously damage it. I collapse onto a chair.

"What are we going to do?" Royce asks aloud, his voice thick with concern.

I already know the answer to that one.

"We're going to do what we have to do," I tell him firmly. "I'm going to fight my way out of the arena, and you're going to help me."

I place my hand on my stomach, not expecting to feel anything, but merely acknowledging that the baby is there. I'm sure of it. I don't need proof. Counting the days in my head, I realise that my period is thirteen days late. That's not normal.

The stakes for my survival just got a lot higher. I'm protecting two lives now, not just one. I still can't believe it.

_I'm pregnant._

I'm going to have a child.

* * *

><p><strong>What did you think of each POV?<strong>

**Mariel and Taser are together…or are they? Do you think that this dynamic duo will be able to stay together, or will Taser lose Mariel to his dark side? Kleska is ready to stand up to Steven. If it came to a showdown between those two, who do you reckon would win? Tiffany is pregnant! Were you expecting this? How do you think she'll cope with this as the Games go on? **

**Okay, the lemon and yoghurt combination? I tried to make it a weird craving, but I don't really know if it's weird. It's probably not, but hey, can I get a gold star for trying? ;D**

**So, just the tribute highlights to go until you get your wonderful bloodbath. How excited are you? I'm going crazy right now!**

**Have a nice day, and I hope to see you next time. :D**

**Over and out! **

**~Mental**


	23. Tribute Highlights

**Hi guys! I decided to give you all another chapter! I think you can be left hanging for the bloodbath now XD**

**I've decided to summarise all of the characters and make a little "tribute highlight" for each one of them. If you ever forget who they are, or what they've been through, this can be a reference point. I will also be listing the alliances at the end of this chapter. I hope you enjoy my highlight on your tribute/s! :D**

**Thank you to everyone who has supported me so far. Thank you to everyone; I'm really, really grateful for every PM and review that you send me. If you have any questions about the story, then don't hesitate to ask. **

**In case you're not sure, the ages of each tribute are in brackets next to their name.  
>Please tell me what you think, and please, enjoy :D<strong>

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

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><p><span><strong>District One:<strong>

**Hans Schmittling (18) **–Aggressive and a perfectionist, this hot headed tribute is the leader of this year's career pack. After losing his Grandparents and being ignored by his father, Hans volunteered for the Games in order to make himself noticed. Hans aims to wipe out the competition and get back to his family. Can this young man stab his way to victory and win this year's Games?

**Tiffany Splendour** **(17) **–Tiffany knows that her sister Essence waits for her to come back. She cannot let her down. After a one night stand with last year's victor, Royce, Tiffany realises that she won't just be protecting herself, but also the child growing inside of her. Tiffany is ready to fight for both herself and her child, but the other tributes are bound to be a threat. She'll have to keep her wits about her if she wants to make it out alive.

**District Two:**

**Steven "Spray" Krane (17)** – Steven volunteered. He plans to make sure that an outlier District wins this year. It's not fair for the careers to win all of the time. If it helps the other Districts out of poverty, even for only a year, Steven will freely give up his life. Planning to take on the careers, Steven has his work cut out for him. Will Steven be able to protect the tributes and take out the careers? Could he even find himself in the victors spot?

**Kleska Giori (15)** – Ready to fight, Kleska is no easy opponent. Though she may be small, she is swift, in both her throwing knives and her insults. Kleska hopes to bring honour to her family, making it back home to Lydy, Al, and her Mother. She never knew her Father, but Kleska certainly doesn't let this get in the way of making her Mother proud. This feisty teen plans to win this year; and she doesn't care how she's going to do it.

**District Three: **

**Franz Wight (12) **– Ever the cry baby, Franz has always been a sensitive boy. He cried through his reaping, through most of training, and through the interviews. All Franz wants is to go back home where he is safe and warm. He doesn't want to fight for his life. Franz's tears may continue to fall, but Franz still has a chance to boost his confidence and become this year's victor.

**Rachelle McKenzie (15) **– Rachelle is sassy; there is literally no other way you can describe her. Her spunky attitude is sure to knock a few tributes out of the water, and Rachelle knows that she won't take crap from anyone. Fighting for her family and her freedom, Rachelle is not likely to back down. Can this sassy young woman find her way to the winning spot?

**District Four: **

**Taser Shock (18) **– Taser is a decent guy with a kind heart. He's good at training, he's loves his family, and he values his friends. What could be wrong with him? Well, Taser has another side, one that is dark and filled with bloodlust, and it costantly threatens to break free. If Taser doesn't control it, he could very well lose both himself and his love, Mariel, in the process.

**Mariel Tide (18) **– Kind-hearted Mariel has been a replacement Mother for her siblings, keeping her family together. Her life is almost perfect, if it weren't for Taser, the man she loves. She loves everything about him, and she wants him to be safe. The only problem is that the sadist in Taser's heart loves to kill; something that Mariel dislikes. Can she cure Taser of his demons, and become our victor, or will she be killed for lending a helping hand?

**District Five: **

**Shaune Greyson (18) **– Silent Shaune doesn't say much. After his Mother was killed for trying to start a rebellion, the whole District hate his family. And that's not all; Shaune has to protect his brother, Jonathan, from his Father's fists. After bumping into Jonathan's doppelganger, Shaune has to try and stop himself from going mad. Will the lines of reality be too blurry for Shaune, or will he fight his way to safety?

**Florescent Neista (14) **– Florescent is an extremely sheltered child. After her parents shielded her from anything bad, Florescent became a very innocent girl. As she progressed through the Capitol, Florescent learnt about what could happen in the future. She decided to do her best to win and get back home to her parents. With her newfound skills and determination, Florescent is not going to give up.

**District Six: **

**Sedan Bristol (17) **– Sedan has always been sarcastic, and he's never hidden it. His family were annoyed by him, and he never really had loads of friends. Fencing for entertainment has certainly given this tribute an edge on the competition, and it has led him to be in charge of his own alliance. Can this satirical tribute keep his cool and escape the arena alive?

**Zest Churna (13) **– Optimistic Zest has always been positive, preferring to focus on the better things in life. She may be in the Hunger Games, but she knows that she still has a chance of victory, and she'll try as hard as she can to get there. Fighting to stay alive, Zest won't give up, not even in the darkest of times. She's not one to stop believing in anything; including herself.

**District Seven: **

**David Peterson (17) **– Clever and smart, David is a brainy kid. He's interested in how things work, and what historical places used to look like. To him, being an outcast doesn't matter, because he's got the best friends a guy can have. David is sure to keep his wits about him in the arena, and he'll do his best to protect his love interest, Kari, until the time comes for them to part.

**Karina "Kari" Faust (15) **– Kari doesn't have parents, having lost them at a young age. Since then, she's lived with her friend Daniel, doing odd jobs and earning money to keep them both alive. Kari feels guilty about leading on David and using him as a decoy, but she knows that it's a good way to survive in the arena. Will Kari be able to survive long enough to make it back home?

**District Eight: **

**Nicolo Boone (14)** – Nicolo loves baseball, and his good friend Mirko is a guy to remember. However, this boy is not as kind as one would think; he's been in his fair share of fights, and he dislikes his annoying younger brother. Nicolo has trained hard and got himself into an alliance. Whether or not these factors will help him in the arena remains to be seen, but there is no doubt in the fact that he will fight for his survival.

**Ali Combs (17) **– Self-absorbed Ali killed her Grandfather in cold blood, believing him to be a victor, thus making her a victor-slayer. However, Ali's previous knowledge is now wrong, and she is plunged into a sea of confusion. Aiming to head out and kill all of the other tributes, Ali is ready to get some blood on her hands and find her destiny. But will that blood end up being hers or that of the other tributes?

**District Nine: **

**Derek Schutze (16)** – Quiet Derek volunteered for a friend and signed his own death certificate. Or did he? Showing balanced skills in survival and weaponry, this young man is no pushover. Derek's scars are evidence of hard work, but he is likely to gain new ones when he finds himself in the arena. Can Derek prove his worth in the Hunger Games and live long enough to get out alive?

**Adelaide "Addie" Plum (12)** – Addie loves marshmallows, but at the moment, that shouldn't be her concern. Ditzy and playful, this young tribute has her head in the clouds. Skipping one minute, and singing the next, Addie is often seen as annoying. Nonetheless, this peppy tribute still has her influence and her attitude; both of which can most definitely help her in the Games. Maybe she can find herself victorious.

**District Ten: **

**Kip Lightcomb (16)** – Kip only has one useable arm, but he doesn't let that stop him. Angered by the pitying stares of his family, Kip hopes to prove that he is not someone to be underestimated. Kip values his Father's pride in his life-long mission; from standing up to bullies, to coping with one arm. Can Kip prove that his disability is not something that defines him?

**Skyla Truce (16)** – Moody Skyla dislikes most of her family. Becky, Hannah, and Adam are the lights in her life, and she plans to win the Hunger Games to escape her horrible parents. Skyla always wanted a new life, and she found herself feeling happier while in the Capitol. Maybe becoming the victor of the 80th Hunger Games can keep her happy for the rest of her life by giving her a new one.

**District Eleven: **

**Massai Puna (12)** – Obsessed with girls (and of course, their many attributes), young Massai's condition hounds him at every turn. He can't help but to check girls out, and there's nothing he can do about it. Believing himself to be the next Finnick Odair, Massai plans to win both the Games and the hearts of the Capitol, using his condition as a weapon. This cunning young lad is bound to cause turmoil with his pick-up lines.

**Vella Contessa (15)** – Vella is a strong-willed young lady, fighting against those who were after her body, and her possessions. Being parentless is hard for Vella, but the lessons life has taught her has allowed her to make many friends amongst the children of her District. Her connection with Luke is a small distraction, but she is sure that this won't get in her way. Will Vella find her way back to the children of District Eleven, or will she fall at the hands of another tribute?

**District Twelve: **

**Luke Coloss (15)** – Luke is a prankster at heart, always playing tricks on those who are mean to him or his brother, Thomas. Losing their parents was a big ordeal, but Luke is sure that as long as Thomas is safe, nothing else matters. Realising that his ideas can be used on people, Luke is prepared to prank his way to survival, even if that makes him a murderer. Can this trickster be beaten at his own game, or will he live to tell the tale?

**Charlotte Moore (16)** – Simple Charlotte has never really been much of an interest to anyone. She's always been that one typical girl from Twelve, except for the times her temper flares. However, coming to the Capitol has not been a horrifying experience for her. Through all of these new experiences and emotions, feelings of romance in Charlottes heart are beginning to awaken…

* * *

><p><strong>There we have it. I'm done on this! *cheers*<br>I hope they're not too short; they are only summaries after all. :/**

**Here are your alliances: **

**The Career Pack:**

**Hans Schmittling  
>Tiffany Splendour<br>Kleska Giori  
>Taser Shock <strong>

**Quartets: **

**Mariel Tide  
><strong>**Franz Wight  
><strong>**Rachelle McKenzie  
><strong>**Florescent Niesta**

**Steven "Spray" Krane  
>Zest Churna<br>Massai Puna  
>Charlotte Moore<strong>

**Sedan Bristol  
>Nicolo Boone<br>****Derek Schutze  
><strong>**Skyla Truce**

**Duos:**

**David Peterson  
><strong>**Karina "Kari" Faust**

**Ali Combs  
>Adelaide "Addie" Plum<strong>

**Going Solo: **

**Vella Contessa**

**Kip Lightcomb**

**Luke Coloss**

**Shaune Greyson**

*******************  
><strong>**So, there we have it.**

**DO YOU KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING NEXT? WE HAVE WAITED SO LONG FOR THIS!**

**Are you prepared for this? **

**Are you? **

**It's time.**

**It's time for the bloodbath. ;D**

…

…

…

**Buuut not yet. I'm going to be a mean author and make you wait for the bloodbath. ***_**sorrynotsorry***_

**I will update as soon as I can.**

**Over and out! **

**~Mental **


	24. Seeping Wounds: The Bloodbath

**Hi! Here it is, your long awaited bloodbath! You have been waiting so long for this, but now it is here! I am so happy that I can finally kill people in stories, and not just on forums, haha! **

**Thank you to Titanic X, Mayasha-chan, BamItsTyler, Alecxias, WendyHamlet, 212degrees, thelastofdavid (in guest form :D) and rachtorr13 for their reviews! :D**

**ARE YOU READY? LET'S DO THIS!**

**Right, the tributes are going to start being killed off now. Please don't get angry if I kill off your tribute! As I said before, your tributes' survival depends off of the detail of their tribute form, how unique and interesting the character is, the results of the poll ( and any future polls I put up), general realism, and how much the author reviews/PM's. All of these factors are what will be keeping your tribute alive. Remember, this is the Hunger Games! Only one of you is going to win, so you'll have to face it if your tribute dies! Sorry! :/**

**I hope all of you will stay with this story until its end (even if your tribute is killed), but if you don't, then I will wish you farewell, and I hope you enjoyed the story. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created, and this long authors note.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>"There is no glory in battle worth the blood it costs." ~Dwight D. Eisenhower<strong>_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Luca Fawkes, Twenty-four years old, Head Gamemaker<strong>

There's a lot of hustle and bustle going on today. I stand upon a white platform, feeling almost angelic as I peer down on my Gamemakers. Reports jostle as Gamemakers hurry from one side of the control room to the other, noting down figures and equations to finalise the last touches on my arena. I know for a fact that my arena is rather simple. However, I know that this simplicity is countered by a few…accessories, that I hope will whet the appetite of the Capitol as well as the President himself.

On one of the screens, the sponsor banks show themselves, already filling up with sponsor money to donate to the tributes. The careers have the most money by far, yet a few other tributes are catching up; Karina from Seven, and Shaune from Five. Vella from Eleven is making a few pounds as well. Most of the other tributes have some money, but it is little compared to that of the career and underdog tributes. The betting scores tell me that Hans from One is this year's intended winner, with a chance of 3-1.

Kiera, Head of Arena Design and Supplies, rushes up to me, several strands of pink hair falling in waves around her face. It seems that the bright strands have managed to escape her hastily made ponytail.

"The tributes are being transported to the arena, Sir," she tells me informatively. "The tributes should be in their pods in ten minutes."

"Very well," I tell her. "Make sure to prepare the tubes."

"Yes Sir." She replies, her jade green eyes shining with enthusiasm and intelligence. I nod once as she takes her leave, clattering down the steps to the level below; the mainframe of the Gamemakers room. I admire Kiera for her intelligence and her studious attitude. She's easily the best employee that President Snow has chosen for me. She looks like a ditz, but she's the complete opposite. I can tell that Snow has made an excellent choice.

Faunon, however, is not so exceptional. I make my way down to the Climate Control section to check on the current statistics for the arena. Faunon is more clumsy than intelligent, usually knocking dials out of place on his section. He works under a lot of stress; especially after his daughter contracted lung cancer from smoking. He sees her as much as possible, and I let him do so. Just because we Capitolites love the Games for their entertainment, it doesn't make us heartless.  
>Even as a clumsy buffoon, Faunon is the only one who really understands the regulations for his station, and he can be extremely picky about them as well.<p>

"Don't set the temperature too low, otherwise the flowers won't grow properly!" he cries at one of his workers as I approach him from behind. "Make sure to keep moisture level at eighty-four percent exactly!"

"Faunon, is everything okay?" I demand, injecting a distant and cold stare into my topaz eyes. The red skinned man in front of me jumps a little, and nods vigorously.

"Yes!" he announces. "We're just having trouble growing the flowers."

I shake my head.

"Let them grow later," I say in an authoritative tone. "Just focus on the main preparations for the beginning of the Games at the moment. There's no need for the details on plant coverage, not when our first muttation and our water flow is more of an important thing."

Faunon nods, ready to get started with things. Biting his lip, he turns away, raising a hand to rub his silvery eyes, which glitter from the powder that has been sprinkled around them. I briefly check up on the Muttation sector, and give Maine a curt nod, impressed. I stop at every section, adjusting things where I can, and barking out commands.

Ziphandel, my deputy head Gamemaker, calls up to me, her long turquoise locks twisted into a loose bun.  
>"Luca, we're online."<p>

Her bangs grace the sides of her cheeks as she leans forward, using her finger to flick something up onto the main screen.

It's the tracker recognition. There are twenty-four circles, all lit up with the numbers of each District. District Three's trackers flicker to life, signalling the last tracker to be placed in the tributes' arms. I smile slightly as the last blue circles lights up.

"We're online…" I mutter to myself with a small smile. I'm ready for my wonderful arena to be put into place. I cast the tributes out of my mind. The arena I've prepared for them may be simple, but it is just as deadly. I can't go feeling bad for them now. They may all be sweet and innocent, but their situation is out of my hands. Plus, this is entertainment for the Capitol. This is my _job_. I can't let my emotions get in the way of things. I mentally close myself down, shutting off all emotion and feeling that resides in my heart. I cannot afford to feel. I must be the Luca Fawkes that Snow asked for.

Ziphandel's white eyes connect with my topaz ones, and she walks up to me.

"Do you need me to tell Decibel to set up several cannons?" she asks me politely.

"I've told her already," I reply shortly. "Prepare the tubes though. I want everything to be ready."

Ziphandel nods and leaves. I turn slightly to one side, seeing Natalie stand silently behind me. I can see her in my peripheral vision, standing awkwardly as she looks on at all of the arena preparations. She brushes her golden blonde hair back awkwardly with her hand, and she pins a sneaky lock of hair behind her ear. It's clear that she's not used to this kind of environment, but I know for a fact that she will get used to it over the next few days. I study the hologram of my arena, and I smile a little. It is time for me to…play around with this job of mine. As much as I don't want to force these children to kill each other, I know that this is a must. They will take flight, thumping through the plains of my arena and through the brush, snapping twigs and leaves before them. But no matter where they run, they cannot hide. Maybe from each other, but certainly not from me.

As I get a signal from Kiera, alerting me of the tributes' arrival to the rooms beneath the tubes, I rub my hands together. Things are about to get warmed up.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Franz Wight, Twelve years old, District Three Male<strong>

I'm shaking. I'm trembling. I'm worrying. I'm going into the Hunger Games…

I don't know what to think. Everything is moving in such a blur; even the adrenaline that forces me to shiver continuously, surging through my veins and infecting every part of me. I'm not ready for this. I'm twelve. I'm going to_ die_. I huddle close to my mentor, Leila Careton, smelling the sweet smell of her coffee coloured curls. Her scent relaxes me. She reminds me of my Mom and the hugs she used to give me. She reminds me of my home, back in District Three. All I ever want is to be there right now, enveloped in the arms of my parents.

"You can do this, Franz," Leila tells me confidently breaking me from my worried stupor. She sounds hopeful, but I'm sure both of us know that I won't be getting out alive. "A twelve year old may have never won the Hunger Games before, but I know you'll be the first to break that record."

I hum quietly in supposed agreement, thankful for her constant support.

"Remember your plan, okay?" Leila tells me firmly. "You and Rachelle will meet up with Mariel and Florescent at the _back_ of the cornucopia."

I nod numbly, my cheeks stinging and my eyes aching with the tears that leak from them. I'm barely even listening to Leila. I can't. The inner turmoil inside of me is far too great, too monstrous to even give a damn about what my mentor says anymore.

Leila walks over to a creaky wardrobe at the side of the white tiled room we're in. I feel like I'm in a hospital. The thought of it only makes me feel even more sick.  
>Creaking open the smooth wooden doors, Leila brings out a hanger. From it, hangs a long grey clothing bag. Zipping down the clothing bag, the two of us peer at my arena outfit. My underwear is black and thermal, with a skin-tight vest and trousers to go over them; both of which are made of the same material and have the same colour. Over that, there is a light green t-shirt with a thick green fleece, and camouflaged joggers. Over <em>that<em>, goes a pair of glossy black waterproof trousers. I fumble while putting my outfit on, my entire body trembling, and my hands shaking as I guide my thin limbs into the fabric. While I do that, Leila unzips a second clothing bag, bringing out a glossy black body-warmer, and a…poncho? Leila raises an eyebrow at the poncho.

"Interesting…" she mutters, before helping me into my body-warmer, zipping it up to my pale chin.

She puts the poncho on over my clothes, the garment made out of the same material as my trousers; only with a hood as an addition. I'm shaking as she pulls me in for a hug. I can tell that she's aware of how scared I am, how worried I am for what can happen in the next few minutes. She makes a gentle shushing sound as I sniffle into her side. She reminds me fleetingly of my Mother, who used to give me hugs like this. Those were the times when I was safe and sound back in the warmth of my house. I all I ever wanted to was to be back in the arms of my parents. I all ever wanted was to be safe from the Hunger Games. I all I ever wanted was to never reside in a living nightmare. But I'm here now, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Tears silently crawl down my cheeks, and Leila attempts to wipe a few of them away, giving up when more replace them. She looks once again over my attire, analysing it carefully.

"It looks like the arena is going to be quite wet," she tells me. "It might get a little windy as well. Expect cold nights and a lot of rain. Your layers of clothing are quite easy to peel off, so it might be that the arena may get a bit hot and humid."

She reaches into the cupboard to find a black cardboard box. She opens it, taking out a pair of sturdy black hiking boots. I'm about to put them on, when a cool, feminine voice echoes throughout this room, the sound bouncing off of the shining tiles.

"_Tributes, you have one minute left before the Hunger Games begin."_

I make a small whimpering sound, my body shaking and shivering vigorously, despite the number of layers that I currently have on. Leila locks eyes with me, but she and I both know that there's nothing she can do to quell my nerves, nor my crying. It has to be me.

I struggle to get my shoes on because I'm so upset over this. I'm almost hysterical, and quite frankly, it's embarrassing. If I'm going to be a victor, I'll have to be much stronger than this. Leila helps me to slip on my boots and tie up the laces. Finally, I'm ready to go.

I gulp, trying to regulate my breathing. I fail.

My alliance comes to the forefront of my deranged mind. I hope they survive. I hope things go well for them. I hope one of them win. Speaking of my alliance, I wonder why Leila hasn't been with Rachelle all of this time.

"Why aren't you with Rachelle?" I croak. "You've spent a lot of time with me."

"_Thirty seconds." _

Leila sighs.

"Rachelle told me that I had to come in here and sort you out," she says gently. "She said that she was prepared for what was to come, and she didn't need any more help."

I nod, fiddling with the edge of my poncho.

Leila pats my back, and she kisses my forehead gently.

"I believe in you Franz," she tells me. "You may seem weak on the outside, but on the inside, I know that you're strong. Through your tears, I know that there's something else in there, just waiting to come out."

"I'm twelve," I sniffle, unimpressed. "I'm not going to win."

"You are," Leila says firmly. "You will. Just because you're twelve, it doesn't mean that you can't be the youngest tribute to win. I know that somewhere deep inside of you, you have the strength to do this."

I rub my eyes, not really believing what she's saying. I'm the weakest tribute out there. There's no way I can win.

"_Fifteen seconds." _

She offers me a small smile, before pushing me gently to the pedestal.

"Go, Franz," she says sadly. "Good luck."

I slowly walk towards the pedestal, my legs like lead and my feet dragging a little across the floor. Never-ending streams wind their way down my cheeks. My nose is runny, my eyes are red, and my hands are trembling. Finally, with a metal _clunk_, I step onto the metal pedestal. Immediately, glass slams down on either side of me. Panicking, I feel my eyes widen as my fists knock against the glass. Leila has tears in her eyes as she watches me panic. As my pedestal begins to rise, I feel myself start to hyperventilate. I'm trapped here in this glass cage, a prison cell of sorts that the Capitol wish to trap me in. I'm about to be cast away, marooned in an arena where death hounds me at every turn. How can I live? How can any of us live through this? My chest heaves up and down rapidly as the wind from above me caresses my blond hair, attempting to move it out of its usual style. It's too late for that; a sleepless night has already left my hair in a tangled and tousled mess.

Surprisingly, I'm not blinded by sunlight as I rise into the arena, the metal cogs whirring loudly beneath me. Instead, I'm met by grey clouds and strong winds. The scent of the air is filled with moisture, and I can tell that it's going to rain soon. Leila was right after all. Disorientated, and dizzy, I look around, gasping, as the countdown begins.

**60…59…58…57…56…55…54…53…52…51…**

I look at my surroundings. We're currently in a clearing, standing among long grass that reaches our knees. All around me, I can see trees. I look out over the horizon, seeing tall stacks of white rock. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small part of me realises that these stacks are eroded cliffs made from chalk.

**50…49…48…47…46…45…44…43…42…41…**

Squinting, I make out many other cliff stumps in the distance all of them standing proudly at about one hundred metres in height. Small black lines run from cliff stump to cliff stump, swinging in the wind. Looking at the nearest stump, the "lines" appear to be a long rope bridges with small, wooden planks. On the top of the nearest stump, I can see a few trees and shrubs growing on them. I look around me, hearing a muffled crashing sound. I'm not sure what it is until I look to my left, seeing the largest cliff of all, about a mile away from us. I can see an immense waterfall falling hundreds of metres from the top, a faint white spray gracing the tops of the trees.

**40…39…38…37…36…35…34…33…32…31…**

Trees rise up on either side of our clearing, rising higher and higher into the sky. I realise that we're at the bottom of a large valley. Ahead of me lies the cornucopia, a dull gold in comparison to the shining beacon I've seen on the big screen in the square. To one side of the clearing, lies a small stream that trickles away quietly as the water moves downstream. I look around frantically, trying to ground myself by finding my allies.

**30…29…28…27…26…25…24…23…22…21…**

Looking to my left, I see the optimistic girl from Six, who stands on her pedestal boldly, a small smile on her face. To my right, stands the boy from Nine with scars on his hands. He looks like he's getting ready to run into the cornucopia. I look directly across from me to see Rachelle. She sends me a smile, before twirling a lock of her red hair around her finger. Her eyes turn to ice as they land on the girl from Two. I really hope they don't get into a fight…

**20…19…18…17…16…15…14…13…12…11…**

Mariel stands three pedestals along from Rachelle. She catches my eye, and she nods, her face forming a mask of worry. She waves at someone, and I follow her line of sight to see Florescent, who is six pedestals to my left, waving back.

**10…**

I begin to panic. Ten seconds left until the Games begin. Ten seconds until I could find myself dead and broken on the floor, my life ripped from my small body.

**9…**

I try to calm myself down, but to no avail. My chest heaves faster, and my breath comes out in ragged gasps.

**8…**

Why can't I calm down? Why?

**7…**

I see Shaune's eyes flicker towards me form a pedestal to my right. I shakily look away from him. He'll probably try to kill me the moment this gong goes off.

**6…**

Looking around, my eyes lock with the boy from One, who wiggles his eyebrows and smiles widely. It looks like he's coming for me as well.

**5…**

The boy from Two who defied the career back, glares menacingly at the small girl from Two and the curly haired girl from One. The small girl from Two hisses at him, while the curly haired girl sneers a little, her hands resting gently on her stomach.

**4…**

The boy from Twelve goggles the girl from Eleven, and the creepy boy from Eleven is also eyeing her up with a rather lusty expression on his face.

**3…**

Black spots begin to appear across my vision. I stumble a little on my pedestal, and several people watch me closely, almost hoping I fall over.

**2…**

I shakily regain my balance, coughing and sobbing to myself. This can't go on. This…This can't…I can't…

**1…**

I can't.

As the gong resounds in my ears, I feel myself slipping away. My vision becomes clouded and dark. I can't see. I hear the first scream pierce the air as I fall into the muddy earth beneath me, alive, but unconscious and dead to the world.

I had no chance of winning anyway.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Hans Schmittling, Eighteen years old, District One Male<strong>

The gong goes off, and I leap off my pedestal with a cheer, bounding past tributes and towards the golden mass ahead of me. Hmph. I don't care much for the arena. It looks fairly simple, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem. I skid through the mud, sliding past the swift boy from Twelve, tripping him up and punching him in the face. I don't kill him though; I just delay him. There's no point in killing anyone until I get my hands on a decent weapon. I get to the cornucopia to realise that I have not arrived first. Somehow a few lucky tributes managed to arrive before me. Maybe I shouldn't have wasted my time on the kid from Twelve. There are three currently at a standoff; my ally, Kleska, Steven the traitor, and Mariel, Taser's blonde beauty. I snort, laughing out loud. Mariel and Steven are clearly no match for me. Steven growls, knowing that my arrival will wound his chances of getting away if he decides to engage us in battle. He knows full well that if he attacks now, he will die. Shifting the large back pack on his shoulders, Steven rummages in a large brown sack, bringing out a small green spherical item. Smirking, he rips something out of the item with his teeth and throws it at us. Fortunately, Mariel, Kleska, and I are not stupid. Leaping out of the way, I dive to the floor, feeling my poncho rub up against my cheek. His projectile explodes, and I realise that Steven is wielding grenades; an old weapon that my grandfather once spoke to me about. I feel the heat on my face from the blast.  
><em>Shit.<em> I tell myself as Steven hurries off, searching for his allies. Mariel scrambles up and heads around the side of the cornucopia, a large rucksack in hand and several belts of knives. _Damn it! _I could have brought down two threats, but I've failed.

Steven meets up with the stick-thin girl from Twelve, and he pushes her forward, yelling at her to run into the forest. She complies, heading off into the trees as Steven finds the smiley girl from Six and tells her to do the same. I rack my brain as I search the cornucopia for a broadsword and some silver knives. Hmm, Steven had three allies, right? So who was the third?

Darting out into the open, I see the pervy kid from Eleven snatching a small backpack, and running towards a small package on the ground. _Gotcha_.

Smirking, I speed towards the boy. He's only a few metres away from me, and it's too late for him when I swing my sword, upper-cutting him and leaving a wound, the blood spraying from the boy's body. The pervy kid screams in pain and falls back, trying to scramble away from me. Checking my surroundings, I see Taser coming my way. But wait…his face is not set in its usual sadistic grin; nor are his eyes dark with bloodlust. _Oh fuck._

Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, I quickly slash the pervy boy multiple times with my sword, sending blood spraying everywhere. Taser stops short, realising what I'm doing, but it's too late. I twirl my broadsword, flicking blood all over his face. Taser freezes as the blood touches his skin. A drop lands on his hand, and he looks at it. Slowly and rather methodically, he licks the blood from his hand, and then looks at me, his eyes already a dark green. I gesture to the dying kid from Eleven, and Taser smiles hungrily. I quickly slit the kid's throat so that I can claim the kill, leaving Taser to do whatever he wants with the child's body. Taser practically leaps on top of the boy and buries his face in his wounds. I smirk. One down, twenty-two to go.

Casually letting Taser play around behind me, I rest my sword on my shoulder, looking for my next victim. I finally settle on going for the innocent girl from Five. This one is easy. I walk casually up to her as she snatches up a loaf of bread. I decide to use my signature move, just for the sponsors, and plus, it will make for a much more…creative…kill. A squeal comes from in front of me as the girl spots me. She begins to run away, her small legs working as fast as they can to put some distance between her and myself. Sighing, I decide that my signature move will have to wait for now. Instead, I decide to show off a few gymnastic skills. Cartwheeling, I rip knives from my pockets, sending not one, not two, not three, but _four _knives directly into the young girl's spine. She crumples without a sound. Two kills. I'm on a roll, it seems.  
>A frustrated yell directs my attention to an ongoing fight; a battle between Kleska and the redhead from Three. It's seems that the supposed sass queen can actually use as weapon, swinging two dual hatchets expertly. Kleska however, doesn't seem to be having a problem, dodging easily under the girl's swipes.<p>

"I'm going to slice you up, bitch!" the redhead announces, but Kleska laughs.

Kleska weaves under yet another swipe, digging the knife into the redhead's thigh. The girl screams, and Kleska jumps on top of her chest, ripping the hatchets from her hands by stabbing the girl's wrists, pinning them to the ground. Kleska smiles slightly.

"Who's the bitch now?" she asks mockingly, and she stabs the redhead directly in the heart, leaving her to die on the muddy ground beneath her.

"Nice kill," I comment. "Could have been a bit more creative."

Kleska wrinkles her nose.

"It doesn't need to be creative," she replies. "It just needs to be a quick job. The quicker we kill these tributes, the sooner one of us makes it back home."

She runs off without another word, leaving me to shrug. Seeing the boy from Twelve head towards the trees, I smirk. Old prey, new prey, what's the difference? I launch three knives at him, but he gets lucky, one nicking his leg, and the other two sinking into his backpack. He looks back with a grim face and blood flowing from his nose. His eyes burn into me, but the moment quickly ends. Grimacing, he scoops up the knife from the ground and disappears into the forest. I shrug again. He's not too much of a threat, so I won't dwell on him for too long.

I scan the field for my next target. There are fewer tributes around now. I'd better hurry up if I want any more kills. Chuckling to myself again, I set off in search for my next kill.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Shaune Greyson, Eighteen years old, District Five Male<strong>

It's started. I rush towards the cornucopia, jumping over Luke from Twelve, who has just been punched in the face by Hans. I don't have time to waste though. My main priority is getting the metal bar I saw leaning against the cornucopia. An explosion occurs ahead of me, but it looks like there aren't any causalities; unless you count the edge of Mariel's poncho charring as she leaps out of the way. Hans immediately darts into the cornucopia and then goes hunting, while Mariel looks around desperately for her allies. Kleska and Steven have both disappeared from the scene. The entrance to the cornucopia lies open and free, which is a very tempting option for me. Quickly glancing at my surroundings, I see that there are no threats at the moment. My long legs enable me to arrive at the cornucopia in seconds. I heft the metal bar, feeling its weight. It's not too bad…something I could get used to. Quickly leaning the bar back against the cornucopia, I run into golden horn of plenty, grabbing food, medical supplies, water – anything I can think of – and stuffing it into a large hiking bag. I make a satisfied sound, notifying myself that I'm ready to leave and get out of here.

I'm about come out into the open just as Sedan from Six runs inside. Wasting no time, I snatch some rope and push Sedan into a box of crates, leaving the boy to cry out in both pain and annoyance. Several boxes rattle against each other as they topple onto my victim. I was only planning for him to be stunned or mildly injured; I've decided that I'll only kill people if it's in self-defence. My main aim is to get home. I hurry to my hiking bag, and I lift it onto my shoulders, securing the bag with buckles and straps. Lifting up my metal bar, I'm about leave, when Sedan comes out of the cornucopia, brandishing a sword. He looks at me and hesitates for a second, before swinging his sword at my gut. I instantly twirl my metal bar in my hands, knocking his sword cleanly from his grasp. I wait patiently for him as he backs away slightly.

_Good choice_. I think, and I run away from the bloodbath while the boy spends time grappling for his sword in the mud.

I finally arrive at the edge of the clearing with no injuries. The blood thumps loudly in my ears as I hide in the brush, observing the bloodbath. A low growl, like that of a dog, rumbles above me. My eyes look up to the sky, which is a swirling cloud of grey-black. The low growl rolls across the arena once more. Thunder. With a quick flash, lines of lightning arc over the skies above me. Rain begins to fall.

I pull up the hood of my poncho, hearing the quiet squeak of the material as it brushes up against my white hair.  
>My eyes follow the tributes running around on the muddy field before me. Massai is sliced up by Hans, and Florescent soon follows. Kleska appears to finally sort out her problem with Rachelle, the redheaded sassy girl. So, there are three deaths. A fairly pitiful bloodbath if you ask me. Mariel stands near the back of the cornucopia, looking for her allies. Her eyes are wide with a mixture of shock, disgust and anger. I'm guessing she's just seen the deaths of Rachelle and Florescent. But where on earth is Franz? Where is my brother's doppelganger? Where is he? I look for him desperately, praying that he's not dead.<p>

Instead, my attention is divided as Taser bounds across the clearing, chasing down his next work of art. The ditzy girl from Nine is skipping away from the bloodbath…Addie, her name is. It's a rather gruesome scene to watch, but in short, Taser decided to snap her little neck with his bare hands before ripping out the girl's spine, and using it as a whip to attack other tributes with. Addie's body just ends up on the floor, discarded and painted in her own blood.

Taser's second target comes along almost immediately; Ali Combs. She smiles darkly at Taser, who simply licks his lips in reply. Their battle begins, Ali and Taser circling one of the pedestals slowly. Both of them appear to be prowling like predators, but even I can see from here that Ali is a little bit scared, and Taser more excited. Taser is the first to attack, swinging his spine-whip at Ali, who only just manages to dodge in time, replying with a kick to Taser's stomach. The boy from Four grunts slightly and he drops his weapon. He dives at Ali, tackling her to the floor. She manages to get a few punches into the boy's face, but not before he wraps his strong hands around her neck and begins to squeeze. Ali's eyes bug a little and her face goes red. She desperately tries to break free of Taser's hold, twisting and writhing with all of her might. When that fails, she settles for a well-aimed toe to the crotch. Taser rolls off, wincing and crawling away gingerly, catching his breath as well as waiting patiently for the pain to recede. Ali sees this as an opening to leave, turning and running away, coughing as she tries to suck in lungfuls of air.

However, this is where her mistake lies, for Taser chases her down again in seconds, jumping at her back and slamming her face into the mud. He forcefully rolls Ali over, digging his thumbs into Ali's eyeballs as she screams. Her screams are so loud that it hurts my ears, and tears of blood run over her skin and down into her hair. Now blinded, Ali tries feebly to escape from under Taser as he laughs down at her, his saliva dripping from his lips and onto her forehead. Getting bored, Taser takes it upon himself to repeatedly punch the girl in the ribs. I hear several bones crack between her screams. This beating goes on for a full minute before Ali finally goes silent and doesn't make a sound. She's probably dead.

Mariel watches this in horror, before slowly backing away. Her eyes flick between the dead bodies of Massai, Rachelle, and _Franz _(Or is it Jonathan?) before she lets a sob leave her lips. As tears begin to stream down her face, she turns and runs from the scene. She must think that there's nothing that she can do. And she _can't_. I'm in shock, staring at Franz's body. He's…dead?

Wait! No! There was a form of movement there, I know it! I narrow my eyes, zooming in on Franz's small form. There! Again! Franz is breathing! An instinct kicks in, a switch of sorts that orders me to save my brother's doppelganger. I know I shouldn't, but right now I don't care. I know I have to save Franz. Dropping my metal bar and my hiking bag in a leafy bush, I sprint towards Franz's small body, which lies next to his pedestal. When he stumbled earlier, he looked quite disorientated. Could it be that he fainted from his fear? Kleska spots me from afar, and she hauls a knife in my direction, which lodges into my shoulder. I whine in agony, ripping the blade out of my shoulder with a grunt, and slotting it into a rip in my poncho. I have no idea how my poncho got ripped, but it's a useful knife holder for the time being. I slide through the mud, scooping up Franz and hoisting him over my shoulder in a fireman's lift. He's surprisingly light, actually. I ignore the stinging pain in my shoulder, the pain intensifying with every movement I make. Another knife whizzes past my head, but I'm already running through the brush, escaping what is left of the bloodbath.

I arrive back at my previous spot, placing Franz gently on the ground. With difficulty, I put on my hiking bag, tying my metal pole to it with the rope I got from the cornucopia. I gasp in pain as the bag cuts into my wound, but I have no time to worry about it for the time being. My wound needs pressure, and the strap of the bag is doing just that, so I figure that I'll be fine for now. I need to find somewhere safe for me and Franz to camp out. A scream echoes from behind me, and I turn in time to see Tiffany launch a spear at Skyla. The weapon sinks into the girl's leg, causing her to topple over. Tiffany casually walks up to the crying girl before her, holding a longer spear. The rain continues to fall, but the thunder and the lightning is no longer present. Tiffany's voice rings out across the clearing.

"Take back what you said before," she sneers. "It's obvious that I've already won this. Any last words?"

Skyla grits her teeth, trying to block out the pain as she speaks.

"You…bitch…" she hisses. "You…have no chance of winning…you'll fall…like the rest…of us…will…"

Tiffany snorts.

"Lovely last words." she says, plastering a fake smile onto her face. Hefting her spear, she stabs it down into Skyla's body, stabbing her repeatedly until her screams stop. The careers gather in the middle of the clearing, beginning to confer and discuss what they should do next.

In the meantime, I bend down and check Franz's pulse in his neck. I find it in no time, the beat strong, but also fast. He must have panicked or something and fainted. Even now, a part of me wonders why I have saved Franz. Surely the boy will only make me more confused? Surely he will only blur the lines of this reality more? It doesn't matter. I'm not thinking straight as it is. All that matters right now is keeping this boy safe, and keeping myself safe as well. With that fleeting thought, I lift Franz over my shoulder and take off running through the trees.

Hopefully we can find a place to stay for the night.

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>Massai Puna, Twelve years old, District Eleven <strong>__**Male**__ - I think Massai was definitely a decent character, and a lot of you found him hilarious. I'm sure that some of you are sad to see him go, but quite frankly, I don't think that there was much more that I could have done with him. He was abandoned by his author.__** Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling.**_** Placed 24****th****.**

_**Florescent Neista, Fourteen years old, District Five Female**__ - Let's be honest here, I know that most of you were pretty sure that Florescent was a goner the minute she was introduced into this story. There was a point when I considered letting her stay alive and see how far she went, but as you can see, I felt that Franz was better suited to that role. __**Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. **_**Placed 23****rd****. **

_**Rachelle McKenzie, Fifteen years old, District Three Female**_ – _I love Rachelle's sass! I really think that her personality was definitely something interesting. Unfortunately, I found that other tributes were much more suited to living longer, and I don't think I managed to connect with her very much. The bloodbath was really her time to go. __**Heart stabbed by Kleska Giori. **_**Placed 22****nd****. **

_**Adelaide "Addie" Plum, Twelve years old, District Nine Female**__ – Addie's character was basically a ditzy girl who was always happy, obsessed with marshmallows, and loved to sing constantly. Honestly, where else could she go but in the bloodbath? To be honest, Addie was annoying to write, but I know that she may be sorely missed by some of you. __**Neck broken by Taser Shock. **_**Placed 21****st****. **

_**Ali Combs, Seventeen years old, District Eight Female**__– Ali was a difficult decision for me to make. She was a bloodthirsty girl, like Taser, and I did enjoy their rivalry. Nonetheless, I knew that it had to come down to the both of them at some point, and it was obvious that Ali was not the type of girl that waited around for things to happen. So, now she's dead. She was abandoned by her author. __**Beaten to death by Taser Shock. **_**Placed 20****th****. **

_**Skyla Truce, Sixteen years old, District Ten Female**__ – Skyla was the typical moody girl that certainly added some spice into the Games. I did like Skyla; her past and her situation were very detailed, yet I felt that she didn't have much more of her that I could develop. As a result of that, she had to go. Plus, she was abandoned by her author. __**Speared to death by Tiffany Splendour**_**. Placed 19****th****.**

* * *

><p><strong>There. Done. I will give you a small recap of the new alliances in the next chapter, as well as a running list of deaths so that you know roughly how many of them are left. I'm sorry for any mistakes…editing at midnight is the only time I can really edit…and it's the worst. Let me know if you don't mind waiting an extra day for me to edit the chapter properly! :D<strong>

**What did you think? Were you surprised by any of the deaths? Why? Did anything else happen in the bloodbath that surprised you? Was there anyone that surprised you by staying alive? I did my very best to not make this an M rated story. Despite the rather creative deaths, I have spared you most of the gory details. :D**

**Four weeks until Easter/Spring Break for me! I can't wait! I will be doing a lot of stuff, so please refer to the announcements section on my profile to see when I'll have trouble updating. I haven't put much on there yet, but trust me, Easter updates will be slow, because I will be doing a lot of camping. I will be getting a new laptop though (student loan perks, haha!), but also around Easter, because I appear to be getting more work done at the library. **

**I did plan on killing more off in this bloodbath, but I decided not to. Trust me, the fun will begin soon, and so shall my plans ;D**

**How was your week? :D**

**Over and out! **

**~Mental**


	25. The Dusk And The Dawn

**Hi! Here is your new chapter! Thank you to Titanic X, thelastofdavid, FantasyWorld1 (thanks for the follows and favs too :D), BamItsTyler, Alecxias, Christoph Andretti (thanks for your advice :D), Mayasha-chan, TomTheWriter, WendyHamlet, 212 degrees, and nevergone4ever for their reviews. **

**I see some of you liked the spine whip idea. Best Death maybe? ;D**

**No worries. There may not have been much blood, but rest assured, there will be a lot more with what kills are coming later XD (I was trying to play it safe, but nobody's complaining, so it's going to get a little gorier XD)**

**I would love it if you read this story to its end (even after your tribute has been killed), but if you choose to leave early, then I hope you have enjoyed this story nonetheless!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way shape or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

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><p>"<em><strong>If you don't look before the dusk and beyond the dawn, you won't be able to see the sun." ~Soar<strong>_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Charlotte Moore, Sixteen years old, District Twelve Female<strong>

The sky darkens ahead of us as dusk arrives, the red sun peeking from over the horizon. The day is almost over, and we've not stopped once since we fled from the bloodbath. Steven wants to put as much space between us and the careers before nightfall. He seems dispirited in a way. At the bloodbath, he tried to take out three of the careers with one of his little hand-bombs, but it appeared that they all survived.  
>Steven walks in front, leading the way slowly, searching through the blanket of darkness in case there are any other tributes running around. Zest is next, skipping away and humming quietly. We've asked her many times to be quiet, but she seems to ignore us. She's been humming the same tune for the past hour, and I'm beginning to fear for my own sanity.<p>

I'm at the back of our line, trudging along and trying to keep up. Steven seems to have no problem with the length of time we're walking for, and Zest is probably being her usual optimistic self. My legs ache, threatening to collapse from under me. I'm tired, thirsty, and grumpy. I don't really care about anything anymore, just so long as this torture ends soon.

None of us have questioned where Massai is. We couldn't see him anywhere, so we're just hoping that he's out there somewhere, trying to meet up with us.

Steven eventually leads us into a thick clump of bushes, finding a small, well-concealed clearing. It's on a slope, but it's a good enough place to rest. All of us sit down and relax for a minute or two, the bushes hiding us from any prying eyes.

Steven starts rooting through his pack, looking at his items.

"What did we get?" Zest chirps, quietening when we shush her.

"I have a sleeping bag, a bottle of water, some iodine, four bags of dried fruit, three packets of crackers, a pair of night vision goggles, and a knife." Steven informs us. He lays each item out, showing it to us. For a bag as big as that, they certainly didn't put much in. I shrug. It's no big deal. We can always gather berries and try to hunt a few animals tomorrow.

"What did you get, Charlotte?" Zest queries.

I blink, feeling the weight of the pack on my back. Oh yeah, I picked up a bag, didn't I? Opening the zip, I look inside the medium sized pack.

"I have a sleeping bag, some gloves, a few strips of beef jerky, and some rope," I tell them. "Did you find anything, Zest?"

I don't even know why I'm asking her. I've been staring at her back for the past few hours, knowing that she hasn't picked up a bag from the bloodbath.

"Nope!" she says, shrugging. "But it's okay. At least we have two packs!"

Steven and I lock eyes. I can feel his pain. Zest doesn't even seem to care about her own survival. She didn't even bother to pick up a pack! Doesn't she want to go home, like the rest of us do? Steven already looks as if he regrets accepting Zest into our alliance. I stare into his dark eyes, before tearing myself away from them. I can't get too obsessed with him.

The anthem begins to play, a hologram appearing in the night sky, white pixels forming the faces of the dead. Each pair of eyes bore into my own, driving home an unknown source of guilt that I never knew was there.

The first face to appear is Massai's. His face is etched into a small, cunning grin, as his eyes glitter with their usual mischievousness. A small pang of sadness hits me. Our ally is dead. Out of the corner of my eye, Steven turns away from the sky, not caring who has died. I'll make sure to remind him later.

Other faces flash across the sky, but none of any interest, unless you count the crazy girl from Eight. I would have thought she'd survive a bit longer. I'm surprised that the cry-baby from Three isn't dead yet. He fainted as soon as the bloodbath started. Maybe his allies saved him.  
>The anthem comes to an end, and Steven starts handing out dried fruit, of which I gobble hungrily. The silence between us all is painfully awkward now that Massai's gone. I never really knew the boy that well, other than the fact that he was a bit of a pervert, but he and Steven were always the ones to start the conversations between us all. Zest hums quietly away, with the occasional chuckle. After we finish eating, Steven stands up.<p>

"I'll take first watch," he tells us, his voice laced with anger. "Charlotte, I'll wake you up in a few hours."

I'm surprised that he thinks that I'm capable enough to watch over the camp for a few hours, but what intrigues me more is why he's angry. I understand that Massai has just died, but why is he worked up? Could he be angry at the careers, for killing Massai? Could he be angry at himself for not saving the boy? Looking at Steven, I know that his source of anger is probably a mixture of both. That, and also the relationship between Steven and Massai probably ran deeper than mere acquaintances. They were friends.

As Steven settles down, cross legged and knife out, I see a small brown sack lying near him, which contains his little hand-bombs that he throws at people. I wonder how many of them there are. It doesn't matter, really, but these weapons are strong. Who knows how far they'll get us in here.

Unrolling a sleeping bag, I sink down into it, feeling my body heat reflecting back onto me as the temperature around us drops with the slow approach of darkness.

For a moment, I can't sleep, worried about what tomorrow will bring. I may have survived today, but I have no idea about what might happen tomorrow. However, I eventually decide that I'll deal with my impending problems in the morning. For now, I might as well get some sleep.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Derek Schutze, Sixteen years old, District Nine Male<strong>

I wake up to the fresh smell of morning dew. Short grass tickles the end of my nose as my eyes begin to open. They open slowly at first; careful as to not get assaulted by the barrage of light that hurts my eyes. My eyesight blurs anyway, the light too strong for what my eyes are used to, bursting through the tiny crack between my eyelids.

After I while, I manage to open my eyes completely, basking in the soothing warmth of the sun on my face. We slept on the ground last night, too worried and tired to bother finding a decent place to hide. Each of us got a decent amount of supplies, thanks to Sedan's sprint to the cornucopia; we all have plenty of food, weapons, and general supplies to last us for a good few days. But these supplies came at a price. Skyla is dead.

All of us thought that she'd been separated from us, but her moody face in the sky told us otherwise. Yesterday, the sheer shock of her death made us confused and unfeeling. Today however, the grief sits on my shoulders. The weight of it is indescribable, but it drags me down, threatening to bury me under the soil I lay on. All of me just wants to escape the world, to hide away from the reality that I'm trapped in. Skyla was my ally. Sure, she was a bit rude and moody sometimes, but I know that on the inside, there was something good there. I almost considered her as a friend. And that's what hurts. She was someone who was willing to ally with me.

She was the first person who helped me in the Games.

I decide to sit up, stretching and yawning. I see Nicolo throwing his javelin repeatedly into a tree several metres away. As he picks up his spear, he spots me. He shoots me a small smile.

"Morning." he greets me as I wriggle from my sleeping bag.

"Good Morning." I reply. I select a few crackers from my backpack, nibbling on them. I don't take too many though: I want to keep them for as long as I can. I walk over to Nicolo, watching him practice his javelin throwing. He throws it with such precision, that I find myself quite impressed. As the spear hits the direct centre of the tree, I clap politely.

"You've gotten a lot better," I comment. "Where did you learn to throw a javelin so well?"

Nicolo shrugs modestly.

"I'm not bad," he says. "I used to play a lot of baseball back in Eight with one of my friends, Mirko. It's our favourite sport to do together."

"I've heard of baseball, but I've never played it." I explain to him.

Nicolo's lips twitch upwards into a smile.

"I'll teach you when we find a decent hideout." He promises. I nod, a small smile finding its way across my face. Learning to play baseball wouldn't be too bad. Plus, it would help me to get to know Nicolo a bit better. In training, we mostly kept to our pairs. The conversations were always awkward between us, but I can already see that they're more relaxed now.

"What about you?" Nicolo questions. "Did you ever play any sport back in Nine?"

I shake my head.

"I worked on the fields most of the time," I tell him. "It brings in some extra money for my family."

"That makes sense," Nicolo answers, hurling the javelin into the tree again. "Most of the people in Eight struggle to put food on the table. I know loads of people that work to get some extra money for their families."

I silently agree with him. Most people in Panem struggle to survive; especially after the supposed "rebellion" that threatened to start a few years back. Things are much stricter than they used to be.

I hear the crackle of snapping twigs, signalling the approach of another tribute. Nicolo hefts his javelin, staring in the direction of a wiggling bush. Could this be another tribute? I take a couple of steps closer to my sickle, which lies next to my sleeping bag.

Out of the bush steps Sedan, grinning a little, and holding a fox in his arms. Both Nicolo and I relax immediately.

"Dinner!" Sedan announces gleefully, and Nicolo can't help but to chuckle at Sedan's tone.

Sedan dumps the fox on the floor a few feet in front of him, kneeling down and grabbing his sword, aiming to skin the animal.

"You two look a lot better after yesterday," Sedan comments. "It's good that you haven't let Skyla's death hold us back."

I narrow my eyes slightly, wondering if that was sarcastic or not. I grit my teeth in annoyance. What is Sedan on about?

"Sedan…" Nicolo warns, his brown eyes flicking back and forth between myself and Sedan.

"No…it's fine." I say, although it's obvious that it's not. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, and Sedan already expects me to move on?

"Good," Sedan replies. "Otherwise, you can enjoy getting stabbed by the person you can't kill."

His words sting, but they are only minor jibes. I realise that as much as I don't want to admit it, Sedan is right. I can't let my feelings get in the way of things, no matter how intense they may be. I sit down opposite Sedan, watching him skin the fox. It's not a pretty sight to watch, but I stare at it anyway, my mind wandering to Skyla. She was the one who initiated this alliance. I can't let Sedan's jibe get to me. We're a team. I can't be the one to let them down.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Taser Shock, Eighteen years old, District Four Male<strong>

I sort out the supplies with Tiffany by my side, separating the food from the weapons, and the medicine from the other miscellaneous supplies. Neither of us have really spoken to each other, so we're really saying much. I'm thinking about more important things than idle conversation.

I feel so guilty. Yesterday, I slaughtered two innocent tributes, purely out of cold blood. One of them was part of Mariel's alliance. I would have been okay with the killing if I had been in my right mind; it's what a career is bred to do. For me, killing someone is fairly natural. But the way I killed those tributes…it was demonic. It wasn't right. I shudder at the memories that flash inside my head. I'm disgusted at what lies inside of me, and I need to learn to control it.  
>I came to sometime this morning, where Kleska took time to check up on me. I haven't seen Hans today; Tiffany came in a few minutes ago and explained that they'd both been hunting for tributes since this morning. Since then, I've been following my "orders". And here I am now.<p>

Tiffany and I finish up sorting out the supplies, repacking our bags in the process. Out in the field, we'll need some supplies in case we get separated. Tiffany snatches a couple of spears, twirling them in her hands.

Raised voices echo outside; they were only murmurs at first, but since then, they've become more audible. Kleska and Hans have been at each other's throats relentlessly; back in the training centre, I remember Kleska challenged Hans' leadership at every possible opportunity. Even shortly after the bloodbath, she was teasing him about how many kills he got. She seems to expect more from him, being the leader and all.

I can tell that there's a lot of tension between the two of them at the moment, and if they're not careful, we'll be a career down in no time. I don't really care to be honest. I've already decided that I'm allied with Mariel, whether she wants me to or not. I made a vow to protect her, and I'm going to do my very best to make sure it is fulfilled. I'm happy to know that she's still alive. Seeing her face in the sky would break my heart beyond measure.

I can hear Kleska and Hans becoming louder. Sharing a look with Tiffany, we both hurry outside and over to our tents, trying to find our allies. I hope that one of them puts a blade in the other. That way, I'll be one step closer to getting Mariel home.

I follow Tiffany around the side of the tents, where Hans and Kleska are in a heated argument.

"I'm not your slave!" Kleska cries angrily. "We're careers! We're supposed to be a team, not a monarchy!"

Hans snorts, seeing us out of the corner of his eye.

"Calm down little girl," he says, pretending to play things off as cool. "I don't need you in my team, short stuff. If you don't like it, you can always leave."

"If you haven't noticed, I'm still here," Kleska replies heatedly. "I'm just saying that I'm not your petty little voodoo doll like the ones you played with as a kid."

"At least I'm not a weakling." Hans counters.

Kleska laughs, making sure it's as loud and as fake as possible.

"Yeah, you're funny," she says. "I could kill you in my sleep."

"I'll kill you in your sleep if you don't shut it!" Hans explodes, taking a few steps towards her, a vein popping out in his forehead. I take a side along glance at Tiffany, who watches the fight, not really sure who to side with. It almost looks as if she wants to join in the argument, but I can tell that's she's biting her own tongue to stop herself from speaking. She knows just as well as I do that if we intervene, we'll have two more enemies that we need.

For once, Kleska doesn't have a cocky remark. Her face falls into a solemn mask. She nods once. It's a welcome event, and I'm happy for it.

"Fine." She tells him curtly.  
>She turns around and walks away, disappearing behind a tent. Hans appears to be uneasy, but he shakes that off. He turns to me, looking me up and down.<p>

"Grab some weapons. We're going on a hunt." He tells me.

I wrinkle my nose.

"I'll pass," I reply smoothly. "I'm a bit tired."

It's a bad excuse, and Hans knows it. He stares at me for a second, before offering me a smile. He shrugs, handing his sword to me.

"Here, have this," he says. "If you see any tributes, then you'll know what to do."

He presses the cold metal into my warm hands.

"…And that is?" I enquire, my green eyes meeting his dark ones.

"Kill," comes the reply. "You'll kill them."

He let's go of the sword, letting the weapon land completely in my hands. The icy feeling in my hands intensifies as something stirs inside of me. Of course, it had to be _that_ that wants to come out now. I can already feel it working its way through my body, threatening to corrupt me, to control me. That's when I realise something. Hans gave me that sword on purpose.

He wants me to surrender to the monster inside.

I think hard, trying to remember as the ice crawls up my arms. That's it! I remember in the bloodbath, he flicked Massai's blood on me so that I'd lose control. That was no accident…he _wanted _me to lose control. He wants to use me as a puppet. A burning fire sparks inside my chest, as bile bubbles in my throat, threatening to spill over. I calm myself down, hating the pain in my chest. Instead, it only intensifies, fuelled by my passion to save Mariel and my hate for what Hans has been doing to me. It melts the iciness that threatens to overwhelm me. It crushes the sadist, chasing it until it hides away. And all the while, the cold metal lies in my hands.

I smile a little. I've resisted the very bane of my existence; the horror that is a part of me. Plus, I've ruined Hans' plans…for now. Just because I can resist the weapon in my hands, does that mean that I can resist blood? For a second, I dare myself to draw some of my own, just so I can test my resistance. But then the moment passes. I could easily be consumed by bloodlust, and that's not something I want happening.

I hear Hans come back, and he makes his way around the tents, coming to a stop opposite me. He stares into my eyes, searching for something that isn't there. He makes a disappointed sound. He begins to walk towards the nearest cliff stump, which appears to be about a hundred metres in the distance, rising high above the ground.

"Tiffany, you up for a hunt?" Hans calls over his shoulder.

"I'm up for a kill!" Tiffany replies, smirking slightly. She nods at me once, before walking after Hans, twirling one of her spears.

I look down at the shining sword in my hands, and then up at the sky, where I'm sure the cameras lie, zooming in on my face with a soft _whir_. In my eyes I voice the question of how stable this alliance is. Will it break sooner, or later?

I remind myself that I no longer care. I have to find Mariel. I have to protect her.

A plan forms itself in my head, like the gathering of a cloud, slowly gliding across the blue ceiling of the arena. Why stay with the careers? I'd be much better off teaming with Mariel. Two careers versus three? It sounds like an impossible feat to pull off, but we could always pick them off one by one. I nod to myself, deciding.

Tonight, I will leave the careers, and be reunited with Mariel once more.

I will protect her.

I will die for her.

No-one will stop her from winning. I'll make sure of it. That's another promise I don't intend to break.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Karina "Kari" Faust, Fifteen years old, District Seven Female<strong>

David and I wander through the trees. We've decided to rule out going up the cliff stumps for now, because everyone else would probably be up there, looking for a place to hide from the careers. It's been raining for the past hour, but it's only drizzle instead of a downpour. The air is quite cool, but it's not cold, and I find it quite refreshing. My poncho flaps around my legs, the fabric making small whooshing sounds as it brushes up against the waterproof material of my trousers. We walk along at a leisurely stroll, our fingers laced together and our free hands clutching our weapons. Both of us did alright at the bloodbath. I managed to grab a small hatchet, and a few knives, and David grabbed a stout sword. We grabbed a small survival backpack, which contained a bottle of water, some twine, a piece of rope, and several strips of beef jerky. I know that the food won't last us very long, so finding more of it is a priority.

So, here we are now, feeling the twigs snap from under our shoes and wincing at the leaves and branches that slap against our faces. We've stayed mostly at the bottom of the valley, following the river downstream in order for us to maintain a constant water supply.

We've been silent for most our stroll. Personally, I find that walking through the forest and listening to the falling rain is strangely soothing. It's ironic, considering I'm in an arena where I'm supposed to kill people. Who knows? In a few days, I could even find myself killing the boy holding my hand right now. In a few days, he might even put a knife to my throat.

There's the problem. Making allies can be something that is equally dangerous and useful. There can always be a moment where your allies can stab you in the back, but there are always times where they'll stick by your side, making sure that you don't lose your mind in the arena.

I scout our surroundings, looking up ahead. Narrowing my eyes, I look through the leaves of green, searching for danger. Instead, my eyes lock onto a small grey lump next to a bush. It looks like a rabbit.

"David," I say, my voice hushed. "Over there."

I point out the rabbit to him, and he nods silently.

"D'you think you can get it?" he asks me.

"If I get the right angle, then yeah."

I toss a knife in my hand, aiming it carefully as I slowly close in on my prey. This could be enough to keep us going for now. Some of it could even serve as breakfast; neither David nor myself have eaten all day, preferring to make the beef jerky last for as long as possible. I creep slowly toward the rabbit, seeing the small animal shiver slightly before me. My feet tread silently against the soil beneath them. I pause about twenty feet from the animal, knowing that if I move any closer, then I might startle it and lose our meal for good. I narrow my eyes, aiming carefully. Launching my knife at the rabbit, I watch as the projectile soars, surprisingly landing in the skull of the animal.

David lets out a small cheer, following me as I walk over to the animal, ripping out the knife, and attaching it to one of the straps of our backpack.

"There, that wasn't too hard, was it?" I say, mostly to myself. It was pretty much identical to throwing knives at apples back at home. I can imagine Daniel smiling at this small victory. I know he'll be watching the screen as if his life depends upon it.

"If we carry on like this, then we should get along fine." David comments, coming up to me and giving me a congratulatory kiss. I kiss him back, purely for keeping up appearances. David believes that we're in a legitimate relationship, but I'm still using him. I quickly ignore the reminder of our one sided relationship before the feelings of guilt flood in and make me feel worse about what I'm doing. I'm doing it to survive, nothing more, and nothing less. I wonder if Daniel sees my little stunt as a survival method

A rustle in the bushes to one side of us breaks our celebration. Out of the green leaves, steps the girl from Eleven, her curly locks dark and slightly tangled. Her chocolate brown eyes are wide and wary. She halts, not expecting to run into us. She eyes us up, taking in our weapons. Her fists clench, the light catching the metal around her knuckles. Of course. She was good in training; if anyone would be able to beat someone to death with her fists, it would definitely be this girl.

I don't even think as I throw my knife at her. For me, it's just a reaction, an instinct of sorts. I have to survive this and go home, and this girl is in my way of achieving that. I have to survive over her.

The girl is prepared for the first strike, neatly ducking under the blade. She stares us down, expecting us to make another move. She weighs up the consequences of pursuing a fight. She knows that she's outnumbered. We have better weapons too, but the rabbit swinging from the backpack on my shoulder is reason enough to attack, even if it's not to kill.

The girl appears to agree with my mental reasoning, because she speeds forwards, coming straight for me.

"Kari, watch out!" David warns me.

_Thanks for stating the obvious._ I think.

I swing my hatchet at the girl, but she dives under me, tackling me to the ground by grabbing my legs. I topple over as she straddles me and begins to feed punches into my face, her face desperate and defensive. I curse myself for not being able to use this hatchet very well. This fight would be easier if I had more knives. David takes this as an opportunity to dive in, making stabbing motions towards the girl with his sword.

"Back off, _Vella_," He warns as the girl jumps out of his reach. "Touch her again, and you'll be sorry!"

Vella appears to look surprised at the fact that David actually knows her name. I'm surprised as well, but more at his defensive attitude towards me. Maybe could serve as both brains and brawn to me…

Vella's face becomes grim as she sweeps her leg at David's, causing him to fall to the ground. By this time, I'm already up, giving Vella a shallow cut to the arm. Vella hisses slightly, sending a roundhouse kick to my side, and then a second kick to the ribs. David brings his sword down on top of Vella as I moan slightly in pain, scrambling up and grabbing my hatchet as I do so. I hear a small _chink_ as metal clashes on metal, Vella managing to barely block David's attack with her knuckle duster. She then proceeds to punch him in the jaw, hard. As David goes reeling, I fling my three remaining knives at Vella. The first one cuts her forehead, the second one embeds into the bark of a tree, and the third knife, Vella manages to catch. She appears to look just as surprised as I am by this manoeuvre, but she takes it in her stride, throwing the knife back at me. The knife slices one of the straps of my backpack and it rips my poncho, but other than that I'm unscathed. Vella's second knife whizzes towards David, who rolls over to escape it. While the both of us recover, Vella quickly snatches the other two knives I threw at her from the forest floor, holding them tightly, and at an angle in which she can stab us with.

"I don't want to fight you," she says evenly. "But if you want to kill me, then I'm not going down. I have to get home…for the children."

I have no idea what the last part of her sentence means, but I understand that she doesn't want to fight us. I relax slightly as I move backwards a few steps. It's obvious that Vella can easily take on both David and myself; especially when she still has two of my knives in her hands. Fighting Vella is definitely not a risk we can take. Plus, the careers are probably searching for her. She got a good score, so it's probably best not to stick around.

I tug at David's hand.

"Let's go," I urge him. "We won't be able to take her. Let's just get out of here before the careers find us."  
>David pauses for a second, but he seems to understand the situation, backing slowly away from the Eleven girl. Vella eyes us warily, standing in a defensive pose as she watches us carefully. I can tell she's scared of us, but that doesn't stop her from being a major threat. As soon as we're through the bushes, I turn and run with David, not caring where we're going so long as it's away from everyone else.<p>

As the branches whip our cheeks and tangle our hair, all I can think about is the relief of not having to fight Vella any longer. If the circumstances were different, then I would have liked to get to know the girl a bit, but this is a game of survival. One false move could ruin everything. I can't afford to make any exceptions of lapses in my judgement. I have to survive. I have to stay safe.

So I'd better get running, otherwise, my safety might just be put in peril. The opponent could easily be worse than Vella next time.

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><p><strong>Sorry about the quality of this, and the upload time; I had some trouble writing this one, because it wouldn't flow freely from my mind. I am so busy in the next six weeks, so expect erratic updates. I will update as much as I can for you guys, but I'm afraid that all of my essays are going to have to come first. <strong>

**PLEASE CHECK THE ANNOUNCEMENTS SECTION ON MY PROFILE! :O**

**So, what did you think about Charlotte and Steven? And Charlotte's opinion of Zest? What do you think of Zest? Did you think Sedan was harsh to Derek? What did you think of this scene? And Taser's plan…do you think it will work out, or do you think he'll be caught by the others? Karina and David Vs Vella. What do you think about Vella's fists of steel? Do you think that these three tributes may meet again at some point? **

**Thanks for all of the support so far; it really tells me that you appreciate the story. :D**

**Have a good week! **

**Over and out!**

**~Mental :D**


	26. Traitor!

**Hi everyone! I'm back again with another chapter. I can't wait to kill off a lot more people, trust me. For now, the characters are going to develop in their own sweet, little ways first, and then I'll kill them off one by one!**

**Urgh, my Dad just **_**loves**_** to turn off the WiFi, doesn't he? :/**

**I planned to upload this chapter earlier, but at least it's here now :)**

**Thank you to Titanic X, EllipticDART, and Mayasha-chan who reviewed! :D  
>I'm so close to two hundred! This is literally mind-blowing, thank you! <strong>

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

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><p>"<em><strong>You mainly perceive the traitor through his mask; he is well known everywhere in his true colours; his rolling eyes and his honeyed tones impose only on those who do not know him" ~Molière<strong>_

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><p><span><strong>Luke Coloss, Fifteen years old, District Twelve Male<strong>

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><p>It's the second day in this arena already. I can already feel the dirt on my hands, the arena marking me forever, tainting me with its stale air and sticky mud. I squelch through the boggy surface of the arena, ripping my boots from the sludge with a horrible sucking sound. Every step I take is an effort; especially with all of the rain that's been coming down. I'm sort of grateful for it though. It's the only way I've managed to get water so far.<br>I understand why we have to have all of this waterproof stuff now. We have to at least try and stay dry, especially in this cold, wet valley.  
>At first, I thought it was the Gamemakers that sent us all of this rain, but then I realised that this must be a default setting in a much larger machine. The Gamemakers haven't even bothered to unleash their first mutt yet. I thought that they would have, seen as only six of us were killed in the bloodbath. Well, I have to keep on moving. If I stay in the same place, then someone might come across me, or the Gamemakers will surely force me to move. At least if I'm still moving now, I can be prepared for anything that might come my way. I hope another tribute dies soon. I know it's morbid of me to say that, but I've had enough of the cold and the wet already.<p>

More importantly, I'm worried about Thomas. He's living all by himself at the moment, and I can't be there for him. Is he eating enough? I hope he hasn't got himself into any trouble. Maybe one of his friends took him in and kept him safe for the time being. All I have to do is fight. I must fight to return to Thomas. He _needs_ me to look after him. There is nobody else there for him, at least not in the way I am.

My fingers entangle themselves with the strap of my rucksack. I managed to grab a penknife, some kindling, a ball of elastic, and a bottle. As for food, I tend to go for berries at the moment. I'm not really fast enough to kill a fox or a rabbit, especially with my current weapons. However, the good news is that I can always use my pranks to my advantage!

I eventually find a small cave in the side of the valley. Not too far from me is the waterfall; I can see the top of it rising above the tree tops. It's almost like a beacon, but I know that going there isn't wise. There's most likely another tribute staying there, and I don't want to get in a fight, especially if I only have a penknife on me.

I set up camp in a small underground cave, dumping my rucksack at the back of the sandy alcove. I'm lucky; the cave is already half hidden by vines and fallen trees, so my humble abode should be safe for now. I sit down and grab the some kindling, the ball of elastic, and my penknife, whittling the end of the kindling into small, sharp spikes. The white shavings scatter around my feet and all over my lap, but I don't mind. All of my focus is on making this trap. After I've finished whittling, I take off my shoe and hammer two of the spikes into the ground. Grabbing the ball of elastic, I wrap some of it loosely around three of the spikes, pulling the contraption back and pinning it down with a rock. If I've made my little contraption correctly, then as soon as I remove the rock, the elastic will snap forward, launching three spikes at the enemy. I used to use it as a catapult back in District Twelve, launching berries onto the street for Peacekeepers to slip on them. Now, I must call for more desperate measures. I move on to my second trap, placing two of the spikes by the entrance to the cave and wrapping more elastic around it. Grabbing another rock, I attach it to the elastic, balancing it gently on a rocky ledge near the entrance. The rock tilts back and forth slightly before staying still. I smile a little. Anyone who comes in will trip over the elastic and with receive a jagged rock to the head. If that doesn't kill them, then they'll be knocked out.

I wonder what I would do if I wake up to find someone. Would I finish them off? Or would I take their stuff and leave? Probably the latter. I'm not really planning on killing someone unless it's in self-defence. Even then, they won't stand much of a chance against three sharp spikes coming at them at full speed. They probably will, but remaining optimistic is probably best for the time being.

For a fleeting moment, I wonder what Vella is doing at the moment. To be honest, I don't really want to kill her. Out of all the other tributes, she'd definitely be the one I couldn't see myself killing. She wrote the letters after all. I can't just destroy a part of my childhood like that. If I killed her, I would look back on my life with regret. She's the only living legacy of my parents, if she even counts as one. If I killed her, then the legacy would die. Similarly, if I'm going back home, then that means Vella will have to die anyway. That much is certain. For me to get home, everyone else in here is going to have to die. The problem is: How am I going to kill them? How am I going to get back home with my sanity intact? Everyone knows that victors of the Hunger Games have vivid nightmares. Would I be able to cope with that? Would _Thomas_ be able to cope with that? There are so many advantages and disadvantages to winning these Games, that all of it is going to my head. I almost feel dizzy with the thought of even surviving to the end, let alone dealing with the life of a victor in Panem…

I decide that I've made enough traps for now. But I guess that it can't hurt to make more…can it? Placing the blade of my penknife at the edge of a new piece of kindling, I begin to whittle it into a spike once more.

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><p><span><strong>Royce Fendi, <strong>**Nineteen years old, ****District One Mentor, ****Victor of the Seventy-Ninth Annual Hunger Games**

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><p>The bright screen in front of me winks as I struggle to stay awake. Maybe it didn't wink at all. I don't care. My priorities don't lie in whether or not screens wink at me or not. It lies in bringing Tiffany home.<p>

After last year, I came out of the arena with a heavy heart. I felt like I'd lost a part of me back in that arena. That something was my will to live. What I saw…it's almost indescribable. Watching tributes get mauled before my eyes was enough gory experiences for a lifetime. Yet, here I am, back for Round Two. Sorin Loom, my old mentor, needed my help. Other than me, he's the only District One mentor alive after the second rebellion, so I don't get a chance to have a break, unlike District Two, who now have three victors.

My stomach rumbles a little, but I don't pay any attention to it. I don't have the time to get food; Tiffany is more important, especially with the tensions between members of the career pack. I heard District Two's Helena rattle on about how her tribute, Kleska, was making more stupid mistakes. By the sounds of it, they never got along.

It's late afternoon at the moment, and in the slowly setting sun, the careers are moving sluggishly this year. To be fair, they are two careers down, seen as it's almost a rule for District Four to ally with One and Two. But their slowness worries me. If they're not careful, the Gamemakers are going to start bringing tributes together, and this won't always be in the favour of the careers. We have a new Gamemaker this year, and his way of doing things will certainly be a lot different to Debra Miles'.

I look around, almost worried that someone might hear my own thoughts. Debra Miles…she's a…touchy subject in the Capitol. Everyone here knows that she tried to get half the tributes out of the arena, planning to save us all. She was "removed" for her actions, and then Snow himself set a band of mutts on all of us. My skin was stained red by the time I managed to leave the arena.

I remember it all as clear as day…their faces…their names…I remember stabbing them, feeling their hot blood soak my palms and their feral screams resounding in my ears as the mutts drove them mad with pain. I remember one tribute in particular losing his eyes as a mutt forced its claws into his skull, the small spheres crushed into white liquid that dripped onto his shirt. A girl was literally shredded by another mutt, her skin being ripped off to expose the red muscles underneath, which throbbed weakly with the fading beat of her heart. I killed them all; humans and animals alike, just wanting to escape from what I was seeing. In a way, I put them out of their misery.

I'm ashamed. I'm not as self-confident as I was before the Games. Instead of high fiving my friends or dishing out banter, I resort to small smiles and simple handshakes instead. I try to be the same as I was before, but at my very core, I'm still broken.  
>Tiffany noticed that. She came to me one night a couple of weeks ago, demanding to know what the matter was. She's always been like that. Ever since we were kids, we'd always had this tension between us, like a stretched rope that neither of us were willing to let go of. We always battled each other, always trying to better. People used to gather around whenever we challenged each other. I smile to myself as Tiffany twirls her throwing spear on the screen in front of me. My smile drops when I remember when throwing spears like those were in my hands.<p>

I'm worried for Tiffany; I really am. With the current tensions in the career pack, and the strength of some of the other tributes, she's definitely got her work cut out for her. I know Tiffany though; she's not stupid. She'll figure out how to make it out of there. She has to. Otherwise, there's nothing else I have left. When she gets out, I want to make us a family. It might be based off a one night stand, but at least it will be real. At least it will exist. At least I'll get to keep the ones I love so dearly.

A hand slaps down to the right of me, a bottle of whiskey enclosed in its fist. The bottle makes a loud _thunk_, and for a moment, I think the bottle might smash. I roll my eyes. I've heard of this guy. District Nine's only mentor, Barli Stalk.

"Hi, anything you need?" I ask, my tone light and calm. I always try to stay true to who I once was. I don't want the guilt and everything to get in the way of who I am, or I won't be taken seriously. I'm from District One. I can't afford to show any weakness, or I'll be seen as vulnerable.

"Not lookin' too good there, sunny Jim," Barli slurs. "You need a bit o' this."

He shoves the whiskey into my hands, and stumbles slightly, forcing me to hold his weight in order to stop him from falling over. Just because I'm a career, it doesn't make me heartless.

At this point, Sorin walks in, his curled hair and receding hairline a welcome sight. Sorin takes in Barli, the whiskey, and myself, before sighing and helping me to drag the drunk mentor into a nearby chair.

"You would 'ave thought he'd have learnt ta cope by now," Sorin grumbles, his gruff accent emphasised by his anger. "He does this all tha fuckin' time, jus' because his tributes are dead."

"He's done this before?" I question, raising an eyebrow at the grey haired man, who is currently mumbling to himself. Sorin nods.

"Every time one of his tributes die," He explains. "Apparently it helps ta deal with tha pain, but I doubt it makes muchova difference; he'll remember everything in the mornin'."

"Good thing we haven't resorted to that then." I say, trying to look at the positive side of things.

"You can say tha again," Sorin agrees. "Careers don't get like tha'; we can't afford ta be seen as tha weaker ones."

I look back at the screen, seeing the scene shift from Tiffany to the girl from Four, who is gathering some berries while nervously scanning her surroundings. Sorin follows my gaze, sensing my worry.

"Don't ya worry about ya girl," he says. "She'll get outta there."

"What about Hans?" I query. "Isn't he yours to mentor? Why worry about Tiff?"

"He's too reckless," Sorin explains. "He'll make a mistake soon, I tell ya. Heads have gotta roll whether ya like it or not, but if ya not careful, then ya will find yaself in a bit o' trouble."

I don't answer Sorin, instead choosing to sit back down. Sorin's hand grabs my arm before I do, tugging on it roughly.

"You need ta get some food an' sleep, before ya do anythin' else." Sorin said, giving me his typical gaze of warning. Before I went into the arena, he used give me this look, silently telling me that it would be best to follow his advice. I hesitate for a second, before giving up. I _am_ tired after all…surely it wouldn't hurt to get a few hours of sleep? Tiffany and the others probably won't start hunting until sunset.

Taking one last look at a snoring Barli and a tea-drinking Sorin, I leave the Mentor's room for a short rest.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Shaune Greyson, <strong>**Eighteen years old, ****District Five Male**

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><p>I poke the fire with a large stick, letting the coals die as I let the young buck finish off roasting over the fire. There's a decent amount of meat on this deer, but I want to cook it now before I get any unwanted attention. The red hot coals shine and dim in waves of sleepiness, the smoke wispy and calm, billowing slowly into the air. I'm afraid that the careers may come and find me now that I'm cooking already, but I've made sure to keep this fire low and fairly unnoticeable. The meat still gets cooked; it just takes a lot longer. As the warmth of the coals gets cooler and cooler, I look behind me, taking in Franz's unconscious form. I'm worried about him; checking him every few minutes for a pulse. He's been out for about a day and a half now. How can anyone stay unconscious for that long?<p>

I consider my plan of action. The most logical thing would be to stay put and just keep on trying to survive for as long as we can. If I didn't know better, the Gamemakers would cause some trouble for us. Maybe if we kept moving, then we would be less likely to be a victim of anything the Gamemakers send our way. As for tributes, the only problem I have are the careers. If I see them, I'll run. If it's anyone else, I'll fight them. I might even kill them. My only aim in these Games is to get either myself or Franz out alive.

I hear a sound to my left, and I turn behind me. Franz is stirring. With a small smile, I shift a little closer to the makeshift shelter I've placed him under, waiting patiently for him to wake up. He sits up groggily, his blond hair messy and his small hands rubbing his eyes. He really does look a lot like Jonathan…

Franz stretches, and opens one green eye. Upon seeing me, he immediately freezes in shock. His cheeks, which are rosy from sleep, lose their colour within seconds. He stares at me, horrified as he take me in properly. He blinks as rubs his eyes, obviously thinking that he's dreaming. He trembles slightly as he slides out of the shelter and across the campfire from me. He clears his throat quietly, as if he doesn't want to aggravate me. He doesn't even look like he's twelve. He looks almost like a five year old, staring up at me in both innocence and fear as well as interest and confusion.

"Where's Mariel?"

The question is barely a whisper as it passes through his lips, but it holds so much weight that his words may as well be stronger than punches to the face.

"She's not here," I reply simply. "You fainted at the bloodbath, and I took you from there. Your other two allies are dead; the redhead and the young girl. Both of them were killed by the careers. Mariel had to run. She thought you were dead too."

I feel bad, being so blunt and insensitive about what's happened, but it's something I must do. I can't get attached to any of the other tributes, because it could mean failure for me or Franz. Losing this thing is not an option.

Franz begins to sob, and then he starts crying, his body hunched over and curled in on itself. Franz can't cry. I can't let him. It's a feeling that wells up inside of me, enlightening my mind and my personal impulses. Making Franz a stronger person can guarantee him victory. It can guarantee him safety. That's why, when I move over to him, I don't pat his back. Instead, I grab his arms and shake him gently.

"No crying, okay?" I order Franz as he struggles to get away from me. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe here."

At the mention of the word 'safe', Franz instantly relaxes a shade, tears still falling from his eyes and his arms hugging his knees. He looks at me accusingly, as if ordering me to continue consoling him.

"Stop crying," I tell him firmly. "Stop. Everyone is underestimating you. Your score wasn't great. You fainted at the bloodbath. At the moment, the odds aren't in your favour."

"No shit." Franz snaps, obviously scared and worried for his safety.

"That's what I like to hear!" I encourage him, taking his reaction all in my stride. "You can't let yourself be seen as an easy target, or you'll be the first one everyone will go for. You want to live, right?"

"Yeah, I do." Franz answers almost immediately.

"Then you have to show them who's boss," I explain. "You're the hunter. They are the prey. Not the other way around."

Slowly, hesitantly, Franz nods in agreement.

"Now, we want to keep each other alive," I tell him. "I'm Shaune. You're Franz. Together we can find Mariel and make a decent team."

In a way, it's sort of always been my plan from the beginning. As soon as I picked up Franz, I knew that Mariel would soon be looking for him. With her helping us, things will become a lot easier. She could even help to kill a few tributes, too.

"Why do you want _my _help?" Franz asks sceptically. "Why do want to protect me?"

"…You remind me of someone I know." I tell him slowly. I don't really want Franz to know much about Jonathan at the moment. He might take things the wrong way, and then he'll run away. Franz doesn't probe any further, of which I'm grateful for. Instead, he eyes up the cooked deer hungrily. Seeing this, I chuckle, ripping off a small section of meat, and handing it to him. Franz hesitates before digging in. I walk over to my backpack and take out a full bottle of water. I filled one up down by the river. We're at the bottom of the valley, so the river is fairly nearby. We'll have to move soon, but the spot is good enough for now.

Franz chews the deer thoughtfully.

"So do you want to be allies with me?" he asks, wiping away the last of his tears.

I smile down at him.

"Only if you want." I answer.

Franz rubs the back of his neck, thinking for a bit before replying.

"Allies it is."

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><p><span><strong>Kleska Giori, <strong>**Fifteen years old, ****District Two Female**

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><p>The sunset paints orange streaks across the sky, the lines left by the virtual brush burning in fiery swirls as the sun peeks above the horizon. Its dusk, and we still haven't gone out to hunt yet. And why is that? Oh yeah, lazy-ass Hans is still asleep, and our "orders" are to stay put. But I doubt I'll obey orders for much longer. The first stage of my plan is almost complete. Now I just have to let things play into my hands. I scan the area.<p>

I can't see Taser. Tiffany is twirling her throwing spears restlessly, strolling around the perimeter of our camp and the cornucopia, obviously bored out of her mind. I kind of feel sorry for her, especially with what I'm about to do. What am I about to do? I'm about to change the Games once and for all. I'm not too bothered about sponsors at the moment, even though I know that I'm going to need them.

Damn it, Hans!

Hans has been an irresponsible idiot from the start of all this. His only reason is to fight for the blood; and if he gave a damn about honour, he certainly doesn't show it. I've challenged him every step of the way, purely because he treats the rest of us like his servants. To be blunt, he's an asshole. I'm taking him down, and there's nothing he can do to stop me. I've already proven to everyone that's I'm not to be underestimated. Well, Hans will wish he wasn't such a dickhead when my knife is in his throat. I smile slightly as I gently run my fingertip along the blade of one of my knives. It's a triangular blade, and deadly sharp. It's perfect to help me give Hans a nice, clean death.

As Tiffany goes out of my eyesight, Taser creeps out from his tent. My eyes narrow.

_Strange_ I think. _What's he up to?_

Then it clicks. Of course! Taser isn't all bloodthirsty and psycho at the moment, so his main priority is getting back to his girlfriend. Well, I could kill him, but I know I can use his moves as bait. I need to kill Hans and get out of here, and he wants to get out of here and find Mariel. We're on common ground. I slowly creep over to him.

"Psst!" I whisper. "Taser!"

Taser jumps slightly, but looks uncertainly at me; unsure as to whether or not he wants to trust me. I roll my eyes, speaking to him before he can do anything else.  
>" I know what you're doing," I tell him quickly. "You want to get to Mariel, right?"<p>

Taser hesitates, but he nods, almost guiltily. I raise my hands out in front of me.

"I can help."

Taser snorts, speaking for the first time.

"Can you?" he asks, amused. "And how do I know that you won't stab me in the back?"

I shrug.

"If you help me, then I won't," I tell him. "And really, it's your only bet of getting out of here without me telling on you. Or…I could always kill you now?"

Taser's lips settle into an annoyed line. He knows, like I do, that he has to accept, or he'll risk being injured or killed by me. It would probably be the latter, seen as I'm not an easy opponent; not even for him. Taser sighs, and he holds his hand out for a handshake.

"I'll do whatever you want, and then we're through," he tells me firmly. "If we meet again after this, then I won't hesitate to take you down."

I take his words seriously, knowing that getting on Taser's bad side could ruin everything. I kind of hope I don't bump into him…I do want to live through this after all.

I quickly launch into my plan.

"Right, I need you to sneak into the cornucopia, and pack two bags filled with food and stuff. One will be for you, and the other for me. Meanwhile, I'll sneak into Hans' tent and kill Hans. I'll meet you out by the cornucopia, and we'll go our separate ways from there. Any questions?"

"Nope," Taser says. "See you in a few minutes."

I don't reply as I slyly weave my way around the four tents in our camp. I dart across an opening, where I spot Taser darting into the cornucopia just as Tiffany begins to go around the back of it. Finally reaching Hans' tent, I lift the flap and make my way inside, tiptoeing around a pile of messy clothes. In the dim light of the tent, I can make out Hans' sleeping form. I approach Hans' bedside, my heart hammering in my chest. My hand slips slightly as it closes around the triangular blade at my belt, the sweat on my palms evidence of my worry. What if he wakes up? Well…it's now or never.

I raise my knife above Hans' neck, preparing myself to slit his throat.

Lining the blade up at his neck, I ram it in, ripping it open. A jagged red line appears on Hans' neck as I do so, the blood immediately spilling out like an overfilled bath. With a choke, Hans wakes up for a couple of seconds, struggling to breathe. He flails like a fish out of water, his black eyes looking onto mine. The blood from his neck soaks the lining of his shirt.

"What was that about killing me in my sleep?" I ask him sweetly. I smirk as the life fades from his eyes, and his movements still. A cannon fires over the arena, and I sigh. It wasn't the best kill for someone like him, but it was revenge.

Now all I have to do is get out of here.

Lifting the flap of the tent, I go out into the open and-

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh shit.

In front of me stands Tiffany, staring at me in a mixture of confusion and anger.

"What were you doing in there?" she demands.

I can tell her question is rhetorical, considering that I have a bloody knife in my hand. Right now, I'm the definition of guilty. Still, I shrug it off for the sponsors.

"Oh, I was just having a bit of fun, y'know?" I say.

"Traitor." Tiffany spits, her face a snarl. "You're not supposed to kill one of your own! How are we going to win with three careers down?"

I shake my head at her.

"Oh, Tiff, you're not three careers down. You're five down," I tell her teasingly. "I'm about to walk out of here, and Taser is about to leave as well. You're all alone."

Tiffany laughs, but it's clearly sarcastic.

"And I thought you of all people were my friend," she says. "I guess I'll have to kill you now."

"See if you can bring it, bitch." I smile, ripping a knife from my belt and immediately launching it at her. Tiffany deflects the projectile with her spear, jutting it out at me. I pirouette around the spearhead, leaping forward and barrelling into her. Tiffany trips over, and I take this as an opportunity to run, kicking Tiffany in the face as I do. I don't really want to kill Tiffany…at least not yet. I need her for my plans, so I need her to survive for the time being.

"Sorry!" I laugh as I dart off towards the line of trees ahead of me. I wipe the excess blood from my hands and the knife so Taser doesn't go crazy over it. To my left, he emerges from the cornucopia, sprinting with two large packs over his shoulders, as well as a sword at his side and a trident in his hand. He tosses one over to me.

"Good luck!" he shouts, immediately running through the trees and out of sight.

I'm about to head in the opposite direction, when I see Tiffany on the horizon, having gotten back up. She's decided not to pursue me, it seems, and for what reason, I'm unsure.

I use this to advantage though, turning away and zipping through the trees.  
>By the time I stop running, night has fallen. Scampering up a tree, I use this time to look through my hastily packed bag.<p>

I growl.

_That bastard! _

Taser must be smart, because all he's put in my bag are rocks, and some stale pieces of bread. How he got them so quickly, I don't know, but his sneaky move has sure pissed me off. Great…fucking great. I chuckle to myself as I shake my head.

He's smart, I'll give him that…but not as smart as I am. It doesn't really affect my plans too much. I'll just have to play my cards a little more carefully.

As the anthem plays overhead, and Hans' face appears in the sky, I smile to myself. If everything goes to plan, then I'll be on my way to victory.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Massai Puna, Twelve years old, District Eleven <strong>__**Male**__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 24**__**th**_

_**Florescent Neista, Fourteen years old, District Five Female **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 23**__**rd**_

_**Rachelle McKenzie, Fifteen years old, District Three Female**__ - Stabbed in the heart by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 22**__**nd**_

_**Adelaide "Addie" Plum, Twelve years old, District Nine Female**__ – Neck broken by Taser Shock. __**Placed 21**__**st**_

_**Ali Combs, Seventeen years old, District Eight Female**__ – Beaten to death by Taser Shock. __**Placed 20**__**th**_

_**Skyla Truce, Sixteen year old, District Ten Female **__– Speared to death by Tiffany Splendour. __**Placed 19**__**th**_

_**Hans Schmittling, Eighteen years old, District One Male **__– As soon as we started this, I already knew that Hans had to die at this point. I tried to make him have some kind of depth, but he wasn't a very detailed character, and he was your typical brute career. It was fun to have him around, but he needed to be killed off in order for the story to move on; he will definitely help in the development of Taser, Kleska and Tiffany's storylines! __**Throat slit by Kleska Giori. Placed 18**__**th**_

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><p><span><strong>Alliances: <strong>

**Trios:**

**Steven "Spray" Krane  
><strong>**Zest Churna  
><strong>**Charlotte Moore**

**Sedan Bristol  
>Nicolo Boone<br>****Derek Schutze**

**Duos:**

**Franz Wight  
>Shaune Greyson<strong>

**David Peterson  
>Karina "Kari" Faust<strong>

**Going Solo:**

**Tiffany Splendour**

**Kleska Giori**

**Taser Shock**

**Mariel Tide**

**Kip Lightcomb**

**Vella Contessa**

**Luke Coloss**

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><p><strong>I will be gone for the next nine days, so if you needwant to talk to me, then I'm afraid I'll be unavailable. I will be back in action soon though! All announcements are on my profile as usual. ;D**

**So, what did you think of this chapter? What do you think of Luke's approach to the Games? How far do you think he'll go? Royce…we have mentor here! What do you think about the relationship between him and Tiffany? How do you think he's getting on as a mentor? Shaune and Franz. Do you think this alliance will work, or do you think that when they find Mariel, everything will break down? And Kleska is at it again! She's made another kill, this time Hans. Did you expect this to happen so quickly, or did you see some of the clues I'd posted in earlier chapters? How do you think it looks for the careers now that they're all splitting up? **

**What did you think of Hans as a character? **

**I hope you've had a good couple of weeks, I'm sorry for all the delays; I've kind of had to travel across the country three/four times in the past couple of weeks. Now, I'm being dragged off camping until university starts again. Hopefully as summer approaches, this story will become easier to update because I'll be doing a little less than usual. :D**

**Over and out! **

**~Mental**


	27. At Death's Door

**Finally! The Easter holidays have ended, and I have WiFi again. How was your Easter? Did anyone get any Easter eggs this year? I was outrageously happy at the fact I got two XD**

**I know some people haven't seen my announcements section on my profile, so I'll tell you here. It's exam season, so my updates are going to be spacey. I'm dealing with three essays and an article to publish in a professional journal on top of my exams, so please be patient. Sorry for the wait! :O**

**The next few chapters will be leading up to a very important marker in this story. And yes, quite a few people will be dying once we get over this initial hump. Just bear with me, these next few chapters are going to slowly build up some tension for what's to come (People are dying along the way, just loads more will die as the story begins to come to a close). Trust me, I have a couple more twists that I'm hoping will either surprise you or satisfy you. :D**

**Thank you to 212 degrees, WendyHamlet, EllipticDART, Mayasha-chan and the Guest who reviewed, and thanks to arielcm for their favourite and follow :D**

**Day Three, here we come. :O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I've created.**

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><p>"<em><strong>Death is the destination we all share." ~Steve Jobs<strong>_

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><p><span><strong>Kip Lightcomb, Sixteen years old, District Ten Male<strong>

* * *

><p>As the rain splatters down onto my face, annoyance fills me. It's been raining all night, and it hasn't stopped yet. Foolishly, I haven't found shelter, so I've been up all night trying to find some. As for the rain, I hate it. I'm not a fan of water itself, and I'm petrified of going near the river, in case I fall in. It's sort of ironic, seen as I need water to live. I've been collecting it using some large, wide leaves that I've been finding everywhere. These leaves are attached to large stems with a bud-like form at the end of the stem. It's almost like a giant flower that hasn't opened yet. I've seen them everywhere around here. It's a little eerie.<p>

I hold my water bottle underneath one of the leaves, filling it up. The rain from the sky won't be poisonous or contaminated, so I should be fine. As for food, there's plenty of plants around here that I've been eating, as well as some small mammals like rabbits and squirrels. It sort of makes me wonder how long it must have taken to create the arena. There must have been a lot of work involved; all for me and a few children to kill each other. It's a bit of a waste of money. They could be using that money to make life better in the Districts. Ha, scratch that, they probably don't care about us.

I quickly scan over my inventory. I collected a small roll of knives and a pack with basic survival stuff in in the bloodbath. These include some twine, a water bottle, iodine, a small first aid kit, and a penknife. At the moment, I'm all set for the Games. As long as I don't bump into anyone, and keep myself fed and watered, then I should be able to make it out of here alive. I wince at my own thoughts. I shouldn't be too optimistic. There are seventeen of us left, and that still gives me a slim chance of getting out of here. Too slim.

For a fleeting second, I briefly wonder if my chances would be any greater if I had an ally. The benefits of someone helping you in the Games do outweigh the risks. On the other hand, those risks can result in your death. Basically, in the Hunger Games, you're probably going to end up dead.  
>Having collected as much water as I need for now, I put the bottle into my backpack and move on, shuddering when the saturated grass leaves murky water to lap across my boots.<p>

I'm exhausted. Without a good night's sleep, I can barely function properly. Sleep deprivation can easily be the end of me if I'm caught unawares.  
>A twig snaps from up ahead of me, and I immediately roll under a bush, hiding from what it is that may be there. A few branches sting as they slap my face, and my arm tingles slightly and it is bent back awkwardly behind me. With more twigs snapping loudly underfoot, three tributes walk into the area.<br>I quickly take them in.

First is the muscular blond from Six, the sarcastic one, Sedan. After that comes the brunet from Eight, Nicolo, who is much quieter. Trailing slightly behind is Derek, from Nine, with those scars all over his hands.

All of them carry weapons; a sword, a javelin, and a hand-scythe. Casting my mind back to the cornucopia, I realise smugly that this guy didn't manage to get the large scythe that glinted cheekily in the back. As more water drips on me, I wipe the soaked blond strands of hair from my face. There are three of them, and one of me, so the best course of action would be to stay put for now. I can't attempt to run away, or I'll get a javelin in the spine. I know how accurately Nicolo can throw those. I could attempt to crawl to the other side of the bush, but I can feel the twisted knots of the plant's roots blocking my way out.

Fuck.

So I'm trapped, with no way of escape. I make a face as the three boys settle down and begin to make camp. There's nothing I can do. I rack my brain. Surely there has to be something? Surely there must be a way in which I can distract them or run away somehow? I'm moderately safe at the moment. As long as I stay relatively still, then the long, drooping branches of this bush will conceal me from the others. The only way I'd be caught out would be if they came right up to the bush and peered through the thick overlay of branches. Even then, they'd have to have good eyesight.

I start listening to the conversation between the new arrivals.

"How much of that fox do we have left?" Derek questions.

"Loads," Sedan says sarcastically, grimacing. "Tomorrow, I'll head out and get some more while you two guard this camp."

"We should be on our guard, even now," Nicolo said. "We're nearer the bottom of the valley than we were yesterday. More tributes will be nearer the river to access water."

"Totally didn't catch that." Sedan smirks, and Nicolo rolls his eyes, but not in annoyed way.

It's almost as if he finds Sedan funny. I don't particularly care. Their survival means nothing to me. Only one can live in the end, after all.

I yawn quietly, and my eyes feel heavy, almost as if there's a magnet on each one, pulling my eyes closed. I struggle to stay awake as my drowsiness hits me with full force. I feel like I've been sucker punched by sleepiness. I quickly reason with myself. Falling asleep now is not the wisest of ideas. However, I'm well concealed, and I'm pretty sure I don't move around in my sleep. Also, I won't sleep for too long. I'm sure I can wake myself up in a couple of hours.  
>Slowly, uncomfortably, I drift off into the arms of sleep.<p>

* * *

><p><span><strong>Franz Wight, Twelve years old, District Three Male<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Clap! <em>A sharp sound makes me jump, bringing me out of my daydream.

"You still here?" Shaune asks, offering me a smile. His hands are clasped together. He must have been the one that clapped.

"Huh?" I mutter. "Oh…um yeah, I'm still here."

"Good," Shaune replies. "It's time you learnt a few things. What do you want to learn?"

I pull a face, trying to hide my nervousness. Shaune has been teaching me ways in which I can hide my emotions and try to keep them under control. He says I'm surprisingly good at it, but I know he's lying. I'm getting there, I guess.

"What is there to learn?" I ask.

Shaune facepalms, making me laugh slightly. The sight of Shaune's large hand smacking his face is a sight to behold. Shaune looks up, his eyes alight with happiness and surprise at my laugh. They're a very unusual colour, his eyes. I stare closely, forgetting about where I am, almost transfixed with the swirl of colour in them.  
>Shaune frowns.<p>

"What are you looking at?" he asks me.

"Your eyes," I reply, slightly awkwardly. "They're a really weird colour."

Shaune raises an eyebrow, pausing for a second.

"My Mom used to tell me that they were a like the sea after a storm."

I make note of the past tense, but I don't press things.

"Which is?" I question.

"Beautiful," Shaune says, and both of us burst out laughing. "Nah they're blue."

I smile widely.

"Alright then!" I exclaim, trying to keep thoughts of my own family out of my head. "I think I'd like to learn how to use a knife, first. Learning to defend myself would keep me from getting killed by other tributes…at least for a bit."

Shaune nods and gets up, reaching down into our small shelter to grab a small knife. I remember him mentioning that he'd managed to get one from the bloodbath. I'm sure it has something to do with his bandaged shoulder. Again, I don't press things. Learning to defend myself is more important right now. Shaune passes the knife to me, hefting his metal bar onto his broad shoulders with ease. I take the knife, the both of us standing up and walk out of our hidden spot in the forest to a nearby clearing. The grass here, glistens from the rain earlier today, a thousand miniscule mirrors glittering like stars against the patch of green we stand on. I don't get the deal with all of this weather. The rain is constantly on and off. It's strange. Why can't they just decide on one thing? It makes me anxious just thinking about it.

Shaune stands opposite me in the clearing.

"Right," he says. "The first thing you need to do in a fight is that you should always know how to block an opponent."

"Okay…" I say slowly.

"So if I swung at you like this…" he says, pretending to swing to my left. "Then you'd block to your left."

"Oh," I say. "That's pretty easy."

"It might look it, but it's harder than you think," Shaune says. "The opponents swing might be stronger than yours, so you have to learn to deflect it."

"But how?" I ask.

"Well, you-" Shaune stops, freezing into place as if I've paused him with a remote controller.

"Shaune?" I whisper, warily. In reply, he raises a single finger to his lips, letting a quiet gust of breath whistle through them. I stay silent. I hear a bird flap wildly, flying away. Is there someone here?

As fast as lightning, Shaune suddenly straightens up, twirling his metal pole so erratically that it nearly hits me in the head. Something clangs against the metal of the bar as Shaune smashes it away from us with more gusto than a baseball player. I realise why when the projectile explodes in the trees to our right.

_What is happening?_

Another projectile flies at Shaune, a small, green ball which Shaune smacks away.

"Shit!" Shaune spits. "Franz, go back to camp and grab our bags! We've got careers on us!"

My blood turns to ice, and my mind into overload.

_The careers are here?  
><em>

I hear some kind of command over the next explosion, obviously from the careers side of things. I feel myself begin to hyperventilate, but I ignore it, trying to focus on other things than panicking. To my surprise, my breathing quickly becomes a slower, but still laboured speed.

I dash back into camp, quickly repacking our packs in less than a minute. I glance around, checking to see if I've left anything behind. My eyes lock onto our makeshift shelter. I grab them, and force them into my pack. We can re-use those, right?  
>The bushes move opposite me, revealing a scarily thin girl who brandishes a knife aiming it at me.<p>

"Sorry," she says to me. "But your ally has to die."

"I…uh…I." I splutter, and look around me. I can't possibly be faster than she is, not with these two backpacks. I need some kind of distraction so I can get back to Shaune.

Unfortunately, I don't have time for distractions, because she springs at me, knife out, face set in a determined glare. I drop my bags and dart out of the way, whipping out my little dagger. I'm uncertain about this…I don't want to fight.

If I could run, then I would.

But I can't.

So fight her I must.

I hear explosions to my right, obviously coming from the battle between Shaune and that career. He's waiting on me, depending on me to get these bags to him so we can run away and escape.

But I must fight first.

The thin girl leaps at me again, and I dodge once more, slashing at her with my knife. It's obvious that she is just as inexperienced as I am with using any sort of weapon, which actually makes me a bit more confident. At least she's not a career, right?

To my amazement, my slash hits the girl's arm, which draws blood. The cut looks fairly shallow, but it's enough to distract her. I charge at her as she screeches in pain, barrelling into her stomach, and pushing her over completely. Jumping away from her flailing arms, I heft the bags onto my shoulders and I flee. There. That small scuffle wasn't _too_ bad, was it? I survived! I feel kind of bad for hurting the girl, but at least I didn't kill her…

I arrive in the clearing, where Shaune spots me. The explosions are less frequent now, and Shaune takes this to his advantage.

"Run!" he yells, jerking his arm forwards, and I run in front of him, leading the way into the forest on the other side of the clearing.

I hope the career doesn't give chase. I hear another explosion, but it's nearer Shaune than me. He doesn't deflect it, instead diving out of the way in a desperate attempt to save himself. I watch as the world in front of me becomes an inferno, red and orange swirls wriggling their way towards plants and dying them black, turning their vibrant green to an ashy grey. I scream out loud the one and only word that comes to my head, because I know that there is no way I can survive these games without an ally.

"SHAUNE!"

* * *

><p><span><strong>Mariel Tide, Eighteen years old, District Four Female<strong>

* * *

><p>All of me aches with guilt. Florescent. Rachelle. Franz. Two of those are dead already, and the third is still out there, somehow still alive. All of me can't help but to wonder how Franz has managed to stay alive for so long. Maybe all of his crying was simply an angle? Maybe he was some kind of badass child all along? Either way, I won't mind if Franz becomes the victor of all of this. It's unlikely…he'd be the first twelve year old to ever win the Hunger Games. He'd make history.<br>As a twelve year old, his chances are so slim…slimmer than the very hairs on my head.

Slimmer than mine.

Slimmer than everyone's.

And yet, he's still alive. He's still fighting his hardest to live through this. If anything, I admire how determined he must be to stay strong for so long. I mean, look at me. I must be losing a lot of sponsors from the depressed way I've been acting for the past couple of days. I suppose I have a reason, but that reason is probably getting old in the Capitol's eyes. Tributes are expected to be strong warriors, especially careers, like me. I shake my head to myself_. I'm not even a career…_

I heard an explosion on one side of the valley, so I've moved further upstream, nearer the cornucopia. I doubt I'll be in much danger. With Hans' face in the sky last night, it's no lie that something must have gone down between the careers. I have a feeling that I'm a lot safer than I was before. I cast my mind back to the bloodbath. Steven threw something at myself, Kleska, and Hans, and it exploded. Maybe that was the explosion I heard? I grit my teeth a little. It was sort of unfair for Steven to attack me. We did agree not to hurt each other after all. If our paths cross again, then I'll give him another chance. But as soon as he attacks, then I'll fight back. I have no other option. I have to help either Taser or Franz to win this. That means that Steven is going to die at some point, and if it means I'll have to do it, then I'll do it. Even if I don't really want to.

I don't realise that I'm not watching where I'm going, until I trip over a rock that juts out of the grassy slope I'm on. Big mistake. With a muffled scream of shock, I tumble down onto the floor, landing painfully on my side. I'm rolling over and over, falling down the steep grassy slope that I was on before. My world becomes a green blur, a green stroke from a paintbrush on canvas, a whirlwind of damp strands and slippery mud. I slide down the slope, the mud getting in my hair, on my face, my hands, my clothes…everywhere! I finally slide to a painful stop.

Groaning, I roll onto my knees, checking myself for any injuries. I'm relieved to find none, other than the fact that I'm a little battered. I look around, taking in the scenery. I'm still quite high up on the side of this valley. If anything, I was probably quite close to the edge of the arena. Shrugging, I move further along the base of the small steep hill I slid down, coming onto a worn rocky path. Frowning, I see the snapped twigs hanging from small plants and trees. It looked like someone came through here, and fast. I move forward cautiously, following the path. I quickly grab two knives from my belt, just in case there's anyone that tries to attack me.

Ahead of me, a small cave slowly edges into my line of sight. I slowly creep towards the entrance of the cave, poised and ready to fly into an attack at any moment. The cave is well concealed, half hidden by a fallen tree. The only reason I can see it is a cave, is purely because I'm standing about ten feet from it. I look around. It seems fairly quiet. I suppose it won't hurt for me to take a look inside, just to make sure everything is safe.

I push past the slippery vines that cover the cave's entrance, my shoes meeting soft, white sand. Above me, are beautiful white crystals that glitter in a random sequence. I'm mesmerised by the beauty of this place. It's like a small, secret haven, where you can hide from the harsh reality of the games…and the world. I find myself moving forward of my own accord, almost as if I'm magnetised to what lies at the back of the cave. I know for a fact that Anabelle would love this if she were here with me. I'd hold onto her small hand and walk her into this cave, letting her squeal and coo over the crystals. She'd ask me, no she'd _beg_ me to find a way of getting one for her, so that she could keep it. I know that she'd put it on her windowsill, right next to the photos of the Mother she never knew. I smile a little as I wonder what Aaron and Brody would do here. They'd probably just complain about how boring it would be to stare at crystals. My Dad would give me a warm smile and a hug, happily watching the boys mess around or Anabelle try to reach what was above her.

But no.

I can't think like that.

Why would I want them here? Why would I want to bring them here, where I suffered? Why would I want to bring them to the place where I might have killed someone? I probably will kill someone. I'll probably die. Something bendy and flexible pushes against my ankles, and I stumble, confused. Looking down, all I see is elastic, stretched taught between two-

_Ouch!_

Something hard falls onto my head with force, and I crumple to the floor. My eyes swim with tears as I bite my lip to shut out the pain. It hurts. That thing fell onto my head. My head immediately becomes warm, and I feel a little dizzy. My eyesight is fuzzy at the edges, and black spots dance across my vision, almost making me copy them as my eyes try to follow their frenzied movements. Something drips onto my hand. It drips onto my nose. It begins to run down my face.

Blood.

Red, hot, sticky blood.

I make a whining sound that is somewhere between shock and pure terror. I hear thunder from outside. It's about to rain. I sit up, my dazed gaze settling on a rock. That was what hit me. It was some sort of man-made trap. Who made those traps again? I can't think. I just- I don't- I'm trapped. Where can I go to get away from what danger there is here? My deranged mind tries to keep a string of thoughts that make some kind of logical sense, but the scissors of my pain cut into them and sever what connections I attempt to create. I can't focus on anything except the pain. I try to figure out what's happened. Okay. Rock. Elastic. Head. Blood. I swear I've mentioned this before…did I? I've been damaged by a trap. _Haven't I deduced that already?_ I don't know. I have a concussion. Let's get out of here.

I bite the edge of my sleeve, and rip some of it off, grabbing a thick wad of bandages from the medical kit in my bag. I jam it on my head with shaking hands, whimpering as I apply pressure on it. I wrap the strip of my sleeve over the bandage and under my chin. There. My eyesight returns slightly, but I'm still dizzy. I scramble up, and lean against the wall of the cave. My eyesight deteriorates as I wobble dangerously. Standing up is even worse than I thought it would be. Okay, one step at a time. I take a large stride forwards as I attempt to move.

_Screw it. _

I hurtle out of the cave, stumbling my way through the approaching darkness, disorientated, dazed and distraught. I'm confused as to where I am, but anywhere is better than that mesmerising cave, where more traps may be hiding.

I stumble to the forest, but to where? I have no idea.

I just need to find somewhere safe.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Steven "Spray" Krane, Seventeen years old, District Two Male<strong>

* * *

><p>"Can I go hunting for animals?" Zest asks me. "Please? <em>Please?<em>"

My mouth twitches slightly. This girl is unbelievably annoying. I understand that keeping her safe is a priority, but could she not bother me constantly by singing her irritating songs and asking her strange questions? Zest has been asking all day to simply go out and hunt. It seems such a simple thing to say yes, but the fact that it's the Hunger Games is holding me back. If she goes out and hunts alone, then anyone could kill her. The problem is that Charlotte and I don't want to go hunting with her.

Zest has been showing murderous tendencies lately. I woke up to Zest singing softly into Charlotte's ear and tracing the line of her chin with a knife while she slept. Ever since, we haven't put her on watch. She's too unstable to cope with. So why have I kept her with me? I'd rather she won than a career. That's why.

"Go," Charlotte says quietly to Zest. "Be back in an hour though…it's getting dark."

"Yaaaaay!" Zest chimes, and she snatches up a knife and heads out, leaving only the fading sounds of her chirpy tunes and her skipping behind her. As soon as she's gone, I turn to glare at my ally, who is finishing up patching up the gash on her arm.

"You shouldn't have let her go," I say grimly. "It's not safe for her out there."

"I know," Charlotte says, almost regrettably. "But you know full well that you and I needed a break."

I grimace, but it's true. We do need a break from Zest's optimism. Optimism and cheeriness are good, but too much of it can be annoying. It's dangerous too; especially if there are tributes nearby that might hear us. I sigh, looking around the camp we've set up. By the looks of it, this was the place where the boy from Five and his young ally were staying. I ordered Charlotte to subdue the young boy from Three while I dealt with the big guy. Unfortunately they got away. I threw a grenade at the larger boy, but I don't think it hit him. If it did, then he's not dead yet. I didn't hear the cannon, although that might been covered up by the sound of the explosion. He was too close to blast…that's one thing I know. At least I know I hurt him. Let's hope he dies from his injuries pretty soon. If he does then I can offer the younger boy solace from this harsh arena. I guess he could be a replacement for Massai.

I wince. Massai can't really be replaced. He was too smiley, too charismatic to just be forgotten in a matter of two days. I can't forget him. Not yet.

"So…" Charlotte mutters. "Who are you?"

I blink. _What?_

"I'm Steven?" I say, my tone of voice becoming a questioning lilt. Charlotte rolls her eyes mockingly.

"I meant who you are under your name and your face," she says. "We've all said a lot about ourselves, but I haven't heard you talk about yourself very much."

I pause. I don't really want to talk about my life. As much as I loved and enjoyed it, I'm not going to live for much longer. People like Charlotte and Zest need their lives more than I do. But then, what have I really got to lose?

"I have my Mom and my Dad," I say. "And three good friends,"

Charlotte listens, obviously interested. Her interest makes me wonder if her wish to know more about me goes deeper than the reason she's given me, but I quickly dismiss it.

"Zippy, well, Zachary is the youngest," I say. "He's all over the place, running around and never stopping. If you get out of here, I'm sure you'll see him somewhere around the District. Bradley and Willma are my other two friends. They good friends, and they tried to persuade me not to volunteer."

"You volunteered?" Charlotte questions. "Oh yeah…I remember now. And all because you wanted to save us?"

I nod slowly.

"The outlying Districts are not very wealthy. Coming from Two, it was my duty to at least help a District temporarily by making sure one of their own returns back home. As you know, each victor has their District showered in gifts and luxuries so they can stay out of poverty for a year."

"So that's what you're doing?" Charlotte asks, raising an eyebrow. "You're just dying for a plan that might not even work? You should be fighting to live. What you're doing may seem good, but it's pretty stupid as well."

"You want me to fight to save my own life?" I question.

I reach over to my brown sack, that now only hold eleven grenades compared to the twenty-three I had before. I reach in and take one out, tossing it casually up into the air and catching it. Charlotte freezes, watching me as she realises what she's said.

"Look, I don't want to threaten you," I say. "I'm here to help, nothing more, nothing less. Nothing else about me matters."

Charlotte bites her tongue gently, remaining silent. She stays like that for a moment, before frowning and looking around her.

"Charlotte?" I question, but she holds up a finger, telling me to be silent.

I strain my ears. Nothing. I can't hear a thing.

Then a sound blasts across the arena. A loud, nasally trumpeting noise, mixed in with some kind of roar, reaches my ears and makes every muscle in my body tense up. Charlotte is pale, and she looks even more frail than usual in the blue light of the coming night. I hear faint footfalls, quick thumping ones that slowly get louder with every passing second.

"Mutts," I realise. "Pack your bags, we need to get out of here, and fast."

"Where will we go?" Charlotte asks, her voice a panicked warble.

"Anywhere but here." I reply, snatching up my supplies and stuffing them into my backpack. My heart is thumping, already running ahead of me in its own frantic race to get away from what will soon be chasing us. Mutts. Of course they had to unleash mutts now. There's still seventeen of us, and it's been three days. The Capitol would have wanted less of us to alive at this point.

"You ready?" I ask Charlotte. She hurries over to me, back pack on her shoulders, and eyes alight with terror. She nods jerkily. She's scared out of her mind. I'll admit that I feel the same way, but it's not as intense. I snatch up Zest's backpack on our way out of our temporary camp, and the two of us begin running.

"Which way did Zest run?" I cry.

"No idea!" Charlotte pants, managing to keep up with me. "But there's no point looking for her, or we'll die."

_Very true._ I acknowledge.

Another trumpet blasts out over the arena. I make the mistake of looking behind me. Further down the valley, large animals speed through the trees, racing towards all different directions of the arena, most likely towards the tributes. Three are coming in our direction. I can't see much of them from here, but they look quite dangerous judging by how fast they're moving. All I can tell is that they're big, and they're fast.

They're coming to kill us.

* * *

><p><strong>There we are! The start of Day Three is done! Just a reminder: I'll post the alliances and placements of the tributes every time we have a death, just so you can keep track. <strong>

**Kip's in a sticky situation! How do you think he'll get out of it? Shaune's been caught in an explosion…do you think he'll be surviving for much longer? Mariel is dehydrated, and she's mildly concussed. She's looking worse for wear. How do you think she'll fare in all of this? And Zest has gone missing! What do you think of those trumpets in the distance? Mutts? Who do you think will be the next to die?**

**I have planned out my updates, and if everything goes to plan then this story will be finished sometime in June or July :'(  
>That might sound like a long time away, but it's only two or three months. I also want you all to know about another SYOT that I plan on doing after this one. That will be here in June, and of course, I would be happy if you guys wanted to submit to that when the time comes. Just giving you a heads up…it's something to get excited about XD<strong>

**Thank you for all of your support! I'm nearly at 200 reviews, and to be honest, I never expected to get this far, so thank you! Thank you all! I'm really grateful for all of your kind words and comments. :D**

**Over and out!  
>~Mental<strong>


	28. The Sound Of Trumpets

**Hi again! My lectures for my first year at uni have finally ended, so now, I'm onto this! I am behind schedule on chapters because a lot of things have moved around and changed. Okay so we're finishing off Day Three now, and Day Four is on the way! **

**I just have an announcement to make (PLEASE READ): If you haven't noticed this already, my friend mikitty bast (Kitty) and I are doing a collaboration story. It's an SYOT, like this one, but the both of us are going to write it. She asked me to collaborate with her, so I decided to. If you could submit, then I would be very grateful!  
>All the details are on my profile! <strong>

**Thank you to thelastofdavid, Titanic X, 212degrees, Mayasha-chan, and EllipticDART for their reviews. I'm sorry for not replying to your reviews; I've been busy! THANK YOU SO MUCH! We've reached 200 reviews (well…201), but literally, I cannot thank you all enough for sticking with me this far. I'm telling you, things are beginning to spice up in a couple of chapters, so don't worry too much if the story is a little slow. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets." ~Voltaire<strong>_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Vella Contessa, Fifteen years old, District Eleven Female<strong>

* * *

><p>As a spine-chilling howl trumpets over the arena, the whole of me freezes. I can hear the animal racing after me, muscles propelling their body forward with alarming speed. I can't outrun this creature; every step it takes is at least four of mine, or something like that. It sounds like it's getting closer to me as each second passes. Seen as I'm running through the forest as fast as I can, focussing on staying alive, I doubt that I'm thinking very straight right now. In a way, I'm happy that no child from Eleven will have to experience this year's horrors. These big creatures will surely cause them to lose what faith they would have had in themselves if they'd gotten this far. Of course…it had to be now, didn't it? The Gamemakers would have wanted us to be caught unawares. There's not just one of these creatures…there's seventeen; one for each of us.<p>

I skid to a stop on a clearing in a hillside. I clench the knives in my hands tightly, the knuckle dusters already gleaming on my knuckles. If I run any further, I'll be trampled. There's no point in running away; I must fight! I'm betting on this one fact…if I kill one of the mutts, then no more should come after me, right? Who knows? I guess I'm going to have to try my luck.

The mutt bursts through the bushes in the blue hue of the world around me. It's built like an elephant; rather large and boulder like, with matted green-grey fur, and a long elephant's snout. The rest of it appears to be come kind of wolf. Its teeth and talons are several inches long and razor sharp. The animal prowls toward me, as if savouring the hunt for its prey. That prey is me.

I prepare myself, readying my fists. _Come on Vella…it's simple. Kill it and find a safe place to sleep._

Wide yellow eyes stare at me with hate and fury, cause me to rethink my situation. I have a feeling that this isn't going to be easy. The mutt pounces first, jaws snapping as ropes of saliva swing from its teeth. Its claws shine dully in the dying light. Acting on instinct, I roll to the left, sending a hard kick to the animal's side. Surprisingly, the mutt howls and stumbles to its side. With a smile, I realise that this mutt isn't supposed to be strong. It's supposed to push us all together. Well, nice try, Gamemakers.

As the mutt is down, I slash its belly, red blood splattering my hands and arms. The mutt squeals and tries to howl and trumpet at the same time. Narrowing its eyes, it rolls over me, and I'm briefly dazed and suffocated by the rancid stench of the animal's fur. Recovering quickly, I dive out of the way of another slash, earning a shallow cut to my leg. I run straight up to the animal, jabbing one of the knives in my hands into its heart. The mutt screams in pain, but springs at me again with renewed vigour. I cartwheel out of the way, holding my breath as the mutts fur brushes against my poncho.

It looks like stabbing it in the heart won't do anything.

With panic rising in my chest, I stare in horror as the mutt rises above me, its bared teeth a sickening grin that almost sends me to the grave. But I can't give up now. I won't. I start to run, round and round in circles, leaping over the mutt's swiping arms. It's like an intensive obstacle course, and if you lose, you die. Soon, the mutt gets dizzy, and I'm in the same condition. I take refuge behind a tree for a few seconds, letting my eyesight return to normal. I peek out from behind the tree. The mutt is still stumbling around, still dazed and unfocussed. It's obvious that these mutts were mainly for fright factor.

I try to calm my beating heart, but I don't have any success. The adrenaline surging through me is strong enough to send me tumbling to the grass beneath my feet. I make a face. I can't run. I have to fight, remember?

I edge out of the tree's cover, a knife in one hand, the other empty. The mutt stumbles around a little, before finally fixating on me. It snarls. Internally, I shiver in fear, turning away from those sharp teeth. Against my wishes, my face settles into a determined mask. I'm not giving up.

The mutt leaps at me, slightly wobbly, but otherwise unharmed. I leap towards it too, twisting out of way of its snapping jaws and impaling the animal in the eye. It screeches loudly, forcing me to clamp my hands over my ears in an attempt to block out the noise. I stumble back from the mutt as it thrashes in pain, before finally becoming still. The mutts eyeball dangles out of its socket, blood splattered over the mud beneath it, and all over me as well. Blood still spurts from the wound, and I catch a glimpse of the mutt's brain before I turn away. I can't stomach the sight of something so gruesome. As the adrenaline fades from my body, the stinging pain from my wounds acquired from this battle forces me to wince. Maybe it would be best just to find a tree for tonight?

Gasping, I drag myself up the tree, settling gently in between several large branches, which will provide me with some support. I haven't seen any faces in the sky yet, but of course, there's still some mutts out there. I can hear their ravenous cries echoing across the valley in a deadly chorus that strikes a sense of doom into the hearts of those that hear it.

There don't seem to be any other mutts coming for me at the moment, so this gives me a chance to catch up on some sleep. I make myself as camouflaged as I can, even though I don't make much of a difference. Sighing, I decide to tend to what scratches I now have. After that, I think I deserve some sleep. I smile tiredly to myself. I'm still in this game. I can still win this…not just for me, but for the children as well. As I stare up at a nearby cliff stump, I smile as the thought of Nettle and the other children swarm into my mind.

I can get back to them.

I have to.

* * *

><p><span><strong>David Peterson, Seventeen years old, District Seven Male<strong>

* * *

><p>My face almost slams into the mud as I tumble over in my haste. Ahead of me, Kari screams at me to get up and move on, the tone from her scream making it clear to me that I have to survive. <em>She wants me to survive<em>. _I have to keep her alive.  
><em>  
>Ripping my hands from the mud, I run after Kari, half blinded by rain, and half numbed by fear. I hear a mixture between a howl and a trumpet call from behind me, but that only makes me move faster. The chilly wind that rushes through my hair coaxes the goosebumps out of their hiding places, my hair rippling wildly like a distressed flag on a windy day.<p>

A white stump materialises through the trees; a simple cliff stump, but a welcome beacon to anyone running from mutts that are chasing after you. Kari gets to the cliff stump, starting to climb up the cliff.

"Kari!" I hiss in warning.

This is no time to play daredevil and climb a rock with few handholds. She could fall. She doesn't reply to me, and I bite my lip, deciding to follow her. Better risk falling than becoming fresh meat for the new arrivals. Quietly, I survey the cliff, realising that Karina is actually climbing a wooden ladder attached to the side of the stump rather than doing some expert rock climbing. She moves up the ladder swiftly, methodically, and with confidence; she's done some climbing before. As more howls ring in my ears, I snap back to the present, grabbing the rungs of the ladder and hauling myself up. I try not to slip or grimace due to the wet mud left on the ladder, forcing myself upwards. I'm lucky I started climbing, because it's at this point where two mutts skid to a stop beneath me. I let out a warning yelp as they try to bite me, jumping up and snapping their jaws at my feet. Fortunately, they don't manage to catch me, and I climb further up, moving into a safer range. I do my best not to look down; only to check if the mutts have left after a few minutes. They have.

"That was smart," I comment up to Kari. "Some quick-thinking there, huh."

"You got that right." Kari replies, her breathing slightly laboured.

It feels like an age to get to the top of the cliff stump, but we eventually do, the both of us sighing in relief. I shakily stand up, but I quickly move away from the edge, feeling a sense of vertigo wash over me. Heights are _not_ my forte. Kari stays where she is, looking calmly out over the arena.

"You were so calm when we climbed," I recall. "How did you keep your cool? You were panicking before."

Kari turns her almond shaped eyes to me, flicking some of her hair over one shoulder.

"I get used to situations like these pretty quickly." she explains.

"So…you get attacked by mutts?" I say awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck in confusion. I realise how stupid my sentence is as soon as I say it, but Kari answers before I can correct myself.

"No, I'm just used to the adrenaline," she says. "I climb at lot back at home. I used to be a lead climber."

"Why didn't you work in the forest?" I question, eager to learn more about my girlfriend. She shrugs.

"I don't know," she replies. "I just work in the paper-making factory instead. I've never really thought about working in the forest before."

I frown slightly. Surely, that has to be a lie? The forests in District Seven are literally what makes District Seven. If someone ever thinks of District Seven, they usually think of trees and lumber. I would have thought Kari at least considered working in the forest rather working as a lead climber and a paper-making factory.  
>I feel a gentle finger trace my jawline, and my eyes lock onto Kari's brown ones.<p>

"Don't worry too much about it," she says gently. "What we need to worry about right now is our survival, right?"

I nod slightly. Of course. That makes more sense. We just need to stay alive for long enough to get out of here. Kari moves in, capturing my lips sweetly. I comply, kissing her back and letting my hands rest on her waist. Breaking the kiss, Kari gives me a sweet smile, and lays her head on my shoulder.

"Look at it David." she tells me, looking out at the sky. I watch the sky, watching as the first few stars begin to awaken, twinkling down at us.

"It's beautiful." I tell her, because it really is.

Sometimes I wonder if the universe is a machine, and if it was, then I'd love to take it apart and understand it better than I do now. But as Kari said earlier, I don't have time for that. My sole objective should be working with Kari to get either her or myself out of this arena alive. There's nothing else we can do, but fight for our survival. That's the way it works. I just hope that it doesn't come down to me fighting Kari to win this. As much as I love her, we've both agreed that we shouldn't die for each other.

We just need to try and stay alive.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Nicolo Boone, Fourteen years old, District Eight Male<strong>

* * *

><p>Two minutes ago, Derek, Sedan, and I were cheerfully setting up camp. Two minutes later, we're running for our lives. After snatching up our backs, we're doing our best to get away from the mutts that are coming after us. They haven't found us yet, and I really hope they don't. There's no point in waiting around to find out. Sedan sarcastically suggested that we could always jump into the jaws of these animals, but Derek didn't take it lightly. He was the first one out of the clearing, and he didn't even look back. I understand that he might be a bit upset over Skyla still, but that's not helping anything if he doesn't move on.<p>

So now we're flying through the forest as fast as our legs will carry us, trying desperately to find somewhere where we're safe. Derek leads the way, and I follow him closely. Sedan is close by as well, leaping over fallen trees and plants with ease, almost bouncing over the unsteady terrain we're running on.  
>A sudden cry of raw pain reaches my ears, and my head whips around to check on my allies. Both of them appear to hear the screams from behind us, but both of them unharmed. It must be another tribute. Confirming my suspicions, a cannon fires. I look up to the sky, knowing that it's not night yet. If we get away from these mutts, then I'm sure we will find out who has been the next of us to fall. I feel no remorse. It just gets me one step closer to going home.<p>

Silence weighs down on us all, as the sounds of the mutts begin to fade. It looks like the Gamemakers are only killing off one tribute for now; as if they simply want to remind us that we need to start killing each other soon enough. I'm not looking forward to doing that. What's the point of killing someone without a reason?  
>Suddenly, I connect with a dark blur, and I'm sent backwards into the ground beneath me, landing on my back. I'm temporarily winded as I sit up to the chaos unfolding in front of me.<p>

"Stay back!" Sedan shouts aggressively, warding off two other tributes with his sword. Derek grips his hand scythes tightly, bringing up the rear. As I stand up again,

I study the two tributes in front of me. One of them is the stick thin girl from Twelve, standing next to the lean boy from Two…the one with those exploding balls. I remember him throwing one at the careers in the bloodbath.

"He's here to help." I say quietly. Everyone turns to look at me, ceasing in their threats and loud arguing.

"Yeah, he totally won't blow us up." Sedan snorts.

"No," I reply firmly. "He won't. He's against the careers, like we are. He's here to help."

To accentuate my point, I gesture towards the boy from Two.

"He threw one of his bombs at the careers in the bloodbath. That's enough proof for us to trust him."

For a few tension filled seconds, nobody says anything, but eventually Sedan caves in.

"If you two even make a threat against me, I'll honour you with the quickest death _ever_."

Sedan stalks off amongst roots of the large trees, already setting up snares and a camp for the time being. Derek and I exchange a glance as we move slowly towards Two and Twelve.

"Sorry about that…" Derek says. "He's not the most trusting."

Two shrugs.

"It's natural," he says. "I'm not surprised. I'd be the same if the roles were reversed."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Derek says, the awkward underlay in his voice vanishing. "I'm Derek, this is Nicolo, and the other one is Sedan."

Derek gestures to each of us to identify who's who.

"I'm Steven," Two answers. "And this is Charlotte. We lost Zest on the way here…we think she wandered off by herself. When we heard the cannon…"

He stops, not wanting to say what he thought might have happened to his ally. Charlotte grimaces.

"In all fairness, she was losing her mind," she says. "I do kind of miss her annoying singing though."

Steven forces out a chuckle, shaking his head as if to shake away his worries.

"Anyway, my aim here is to keep you all alive for as long as possible," he informs us. "I won't let you down."

I nod at this, reassured with my decision. Steven says all of this with such conviction, but how long will it take for him to change his mind? For now, I know that trusting Steven is the right decision to make, but I wonder how long my decision will be seen as correct by Derek. Sedan's already annoyed as it is. I guess I'll have to wait and see. For now, I'm just going to have to observe, and hope everything goes okay.

"We have some supplies, if you need anything." Charlotte offers kindly.

"Thanks," Derek smiles. "We have most of the supplies we need right now, but any extras are useful."

"So, what's the plan?" Steven questions.

"For now, we're just staying alive for as long as we can," Derek answers. "Sedan said that we'll have to kill anyone that gets in our way, but for now, we're going to lie low. Maybe when the numbers are smaller we'll attack the careers and take them down."

Steven nods.

"That sounds like a suitable plan." He comments, before moving on to go near Sedan, kneeling down and offering to help him start a small fire.

I follow Steven, leaving Derek and Charlotte to talk. Grabbing my bag, I check over my supplies to make sure I haven't dropped anything. No, everything is still there. So far, so good. Looking up to the sky, I relax in the fact that I'm still alive…for now. We had a narrow brush with death today, and we were lucky to escape it.

Who knows if we can escape death again?

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chive Hart, Fourty-three years old, District Eleven Mentor, Victor of the 54<strong>**th**** Annual Hunger Games**

* * *

><p>It's sick. It's disgusting. It's horrific. How the Capitol kill off tributes…I can't describe how awful it is to watch. You'd think after twenty-six years, I'd have gotten used to it. I haven't. I watch each tribute as they flee from the mutts the Gamemakers have sent out. It's quite late at the moment, with only myself in the camera room with the sleep deprived District One mentor who appears to be glued to the screen. The poor boy won last year, and he looks like he's been through hell.<br>Ironically, he has. I don't blame him for feeling so upset and obsessed over his the safety of his tributes; it's his first year of mentoring after all. I probably looked like that the first time I won.

I wince at the memories that swarm to the forefront of my mind. Back when I first won my games, I was a wreck. I'd lost all of my morals. Everything that I'd been taught as a child had been ripped from me. I remember stumbling through the flowers of the paradise garden, my blood staining the petals as my fingers brushed against them. I killed two people in the arena, and I've never been the same since.

At first, I didn't know what to do with myself. I was edgy, paranoid, untrusting. But then I met Hunter. From District Six, he wasn't your typical morphling. Of course, he'd had problems with it before; quickly becoming addicted to it shortly after his niece's death. Nonetheless, Hunter used to be a determined man, and he got over his addiction within a few months. He was sort of like a mentor to me when I'd won my Games. He was always there to help me whenever I had a problem. He introduced me to a lot of other victors, like Ami, who won shortly after he did, and Barli, who is still around but almost constantly drunk. I remember when I joined Seeder and Chaff when mentoring tributes, each of us rotating and occasionally having a year off from seeing the horrors unfold on screen.

But now I'm left alone. Hunter, Ami, Seeder…all of them are dead now. Each of us were brought in for interrogation and most of us were killed. The only way I'm still alive was because I practically lied my way through the brutal torture they subjected me to. Oh yes, I knew plans about the rebellion, but I chose to have no part in it. Most of the older victors weren't able to help much, especially because they were in their seventies and eighties. What was my excuse? I didn't have one. I would have been happy to help, but I had been too busy trying to work behind the scenes. In fact, I did so many tiny, pointless things in the rebellion that I might as well have had no part in it at all. But I couldn't tell anyone that. The words never spilt from my mouth. I convinced them that I had nothing to tell them. I convinced them that I was a loyal victor to the Capitol, and that I would stand up and rise against the rebellion. I forced myself to lie, to pretend, in order to survive. As soon as Katniss died in that arena, I knew that the rebellion was over. Why should I stand against it, if the rebellion was going to fail?

It's the worst decision I've ever made, to be honest. I wish I'd died for the rebellion, or spilled information about the Capitol to give them a reason to kill me. I wish I'd spoken. But I didn't, and now I'm here, forced to dwell on the mistakes I've made as the Hunger Games continue every year.

I watch the screens in disgust as the male tribute from Ten gets mauled by the mutts. Their claws rake across his flesh, balls of muscle and flesh forming behind them as the talons rip the by apart. The kid only has one arm, while the other is shrivelled and all folded together. I look on with pity as the boy is literally ripped apart by the mutts, intestines being dragged across the mud, and chips of bone embedded in the goo. A cannon fires for his death.

Checking the other screens, I find myself impressed. Most tributes have climbed trees to escape the mutts, and those that haven't were lucky that Ten got killed. As the mutts slowly retreat, some of them begin to make camp. I keep a sharp eye on where the careers are in relation to my only remaining tribute, Vella. I don't want her to die like Massai did. The boys from One and Four made his death pretty painful. Obviously, I don't want her to die at all, but with so many large competitors in the game, I'm worried about her. She's impressed me so far; especially when she slaughtered that mutt. It wasn't the brightest of ideas, because she could have died, but she survived and that's what matters. I check the sponsors screen. She's got a healthy sum at the moment, but I'm saving it for when she needs it.

Closing down the screen, I see the anthem come on in the arena, and I decide to call it a night. Vella's settled down in a tree, and I don't see any nearby threats to her for the time being. She'll be safe for now.

Standing up with a small groan, I walk over to the door of the viewing room. I pause for a second, wondering whether or not I should speak to the new victor from One, but the moment passes, and I leave.

Maybe I'll speak to him another time.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Massai Puna, Twelve years old, District Eleven<strong>__**Male **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 24**__**th  
><strong>__**Florescent Neista, Fourteen years old, District Five Female **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 23**__**rd  
><strong>__**Rachelle McKenzie, Fifteen years old, District Three Female**__ - Stabbed in the heart by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 22**__**nd**__**  
>Adelaide "Addie" Plum, Twelve years old, District Nine Female<strong>__ – Neck broken by Taser Shock. __**Placed 21**__**st  
><strong>__**Ali Combs, Seventeen years old, District Eight Female**__ – Beaten to death by Taser Shock. __**Placed 20**__**th**__**  
>Skyla Truce, Sixteen year old, District Ten Female <strong>__– Speared to death by Tiffany Splendour. __**Placed 19**__**th**__**  
>Hans Schmittling, Eighteen years old, District One Male – <strong>__Throat slit by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 18**__**th  
><strong>__**  
>Kip Lightcomb, Sixteen years old, District Ten Male<strong>__ – I did like Kip; he was probably one of the most detailed characters I received at the beginning of all this. I thought he was an interesting character, and at first, I put him into my final eight, with the possibility of becoming victor. Realistically though, a one armed guy can only remain alive for so long in the Hunger Games, especially when he's on his own. I felt that it was his time to go. He will be a character I'm going to miss…it's a shame he had to die so early on, but my plans with him only took him this far. __**Mauled by mutts. Placed 17**__**th**_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Alliances:<strong>

**Groups: **

**Steven "Spray" Krane  
>Sedan Bristol<br>Nicolo Boone  
>Derek Schutze<br>Charlotte Moore**

**Duos:**

**Franz Wight  
>Shaune Greyson<strong>

**David Peterson  
>Karina "Kari" Faust<strong>

**Solo:**

**Tiffany Splendour**

**Kleska Giori**

**Taser Shock**

**Mariel Tide**

**Zest Churna**

**Vella Contessa**

**Luke Coloss**

* * *

><p><strong>And there we go. Another day down!<strong>

**Day Four will be on its way soon. **

**I forced myself to update today, despite the fact my exam is in two days. I couldn't leave this story for so long, so I had to update! By the way, it might *cough* be someone's *cough* birthday today *cough cough* so if you could submit, then that would be a perfect birthday present. If not, I won't hold it against you :D**

**So, what did you think of this chapter? What did you think of Kip as a character? Vella's fighting skills seem impressive. Do you think she's an underdog, or just lucky? David and Karina have survived the mutts. What do you think will happen with them in the future? We have a massive alliance now! Do you think this will last for very long? And what did you think of Chive? Do you like her/dislike her?**

**Sorry about the quality of this chapter…exam stress is pure poison :/**

**Have a lovely week, and I hope you're all doing well on your exams and that work is going well for you!**

**Over and out!  
>~Mental<strong>


	29. Heartache

**Hi again! I'm free for the summer! Sorry it's taken so long; I've had a lot of problems regulating with my mood, and of course, Kitty has kept me focussed on Veil Of Ignorance. But no worries, I'm here now. :D**

**Spicing things up a bit now on the story, especially concerning alliances and the dynamics within them. After that, I will fulfil my promise of deaths galore. We have about twenty chapters left of the story. It sounds like a lot, but I reckon it will fly by. :O**

**It's also taken me a while to update, because I've finally sorted out my Victors blog, which has sorted out a small problem by adding a couple of mentors into the mix. There are now twelve mentors who stood against the rebellion instead of eight. Don't worry too much about it, I feel that the reason for this will be visited in the future SYOT's in this series. I've also changed the names of some mentors, which I apologise for in advance. I feel that they were a little too outlandish. I doubt that there will be too many noticeable changes, but I decided that it was better to change things now rather than later, where it would be a bigger problem. If you do want to re-read on any of the tributes to catch up, then don't hesitate to visit the tribute highlights chapter to remember a bit about them.**

**Thank you to Alecxias, Mayasha-chan, EllipticDART, 212degrees, BamItsTyler, and necrotizing fasciitis for their reviews! I'm grateful for the support you guys have shown, especially when other readers are now neglecting their tributes (which is saddening, but most of them are having personal issues, unfortunately, so I'll have to be semi-lenient :/).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I've created.**

* * *

><p><strong>"<em>L<em>**_**ove**** leaves a memory no one can steal, but sometimes it leaves a heartache that no one else can heal" ~Anonymous**_

* * *

><p><strong>Derek Schutze, Sixteen years old, District Nine Male<strong>

* * *

><p>The tension here is so thick that I can barely breathe. It clogs my airways and blocks any rational thought. This is not how I wanted our alliance to be. Before, back in the training centre, it was comfortable. Skyla, Sedan, Nicolo, and myself…we were a decent group. We may have come together in rushed circumstances, and maybe I've had a small problem with Sedan recently, but other than that, we are a dream team. We hunt, we hide, we survive. But now, I constantly wonder whether or not it was the best decision to allow Steven and Charlotte into our alliance. I mean, sure, we're a pack that is larger than that of the careers. We could potentially take them out with our numbers. All of us are decent fighters, especially with Steven's explosives. He calls them grenades, but, hey I'm not really one to worry about something like that. I just want to get out of here alive, so I can get back to everyone at home.<p>

I remember that I used to take the old days for granted. I used to let Sarah follow me home from the fields, knowing that it was routine. It happened every day, I guess I was used to the life I led, so much so that I didn't picture it ending. I used to walk with Josh and Alexis, and spend time with them, too. But it's all different now. I volunteered to save Josh. I'll probably never see my family again, or Alexis, for that matter.

My hand moves slightly over the rough bark of the muddy log I'm sitting on. It's chosen to rain yet again, but I've decided to sit outside rather than stay in our makeshift shelter, purely because I want some time to myself. Thoughts of home have been creeping up on me.

I know anything by I die, it will be that I've saved a life. Josh's life at that. Sure, I signed my own death certificate, but I think that was for the best. Josh's family is worse off than mine, and they need his help to survive. As for Alexis…what can I say? I like her a lot. I'm drawn to her, like a moth to the flame. I love how energised she is, and I love her smile. Simply imagining her smile brightens up this thunderstorm a lot more. It fills me with some sort of strange hope. But of course, Alexis probably doesn't like me in that way. I'm not good enough for her, surely? She's way too beautiful to go out with someone like me.

My hopes plummet like a stone in water, but I try to remain positive. I guess I still have to get out of here, or at least try to do so. My family do still need me, and Josh and Alexis will be upset if I don't make it back to them. I can't imagine Sarah growing up without me by her side. I wish more than anything to be back there right now, instead of being stuck in this mess.

I grip my scythe as I hear footsteps from behind me. Looking back, I stare into the dark eyes of Nicolo. I remain silent as he sits down next to me. There's a silence that Nicolo and I share that isn't awkward at all. It's more…comforting. It's like he silently reassures me that it will all be okay. Sadly, we all know it won't.

"Are you okay?" Nicolo questions.

"Yeah," I mutter. "I'm just thinking about home. It makes me wonder why I volunteered."

Nicolo shakes his head, drops of water tumbling from his soggy hair.

"No, I think you've made the right decision," he says. "The guy you volunteered for didn't look like he would have been able to survive for as long as you have. You're a decent guy, and you're strong-willed. You've got a lot of drive to get back home. I can see it. All of us can."

I scoff half-heartedly.

"Pfft. Yeah right," I tell him. "Look at you and your javelins. And Sedan with his sword. Steven's grenades? You three will probably survive longer than me. All of you have your various reasons as to why you're fighting to go home. We're all the same, really."

Again Nicolo shakes his head.

"I'm not so sure," he muses. "I reckon you're a lot stronger than you think, at least on the inside. I mean, you've gotten this far, right? I'd say we're doing pretty well, seen as we've lasted four days in here already."

I smile slightly. A faint smell of cooking meat wafts to my nostrils, and I sniff at it eagerly, earning a chuckle from Nicolo.

"Sedan's making breakfast," he explains. "He was saying something about having some hot food to keep us warm while we're waiting for the rain to stop. We're nearly out of food though, so we'll have to go on a hunting trip soon."

"I'll go on it if no-one else wants to." I offer.

"Sedan said he'll decide who's coming with him tomorrow," Nicolo shrugs. "You coming?"

"Sure!" I smile, standing up, and walking back with Nicolo to our shelter.

I smile to myself as we walk. Maybe I haven't realised that I have other friends here. Nicolo…and I suppose Sedan as well, when he brightens up. Maybe I can even grow to become better friends with Steven and Charlotte too, providing that things settle down a bit. Maybe I had friends here all along, but I never valued them until now. Reminding myself to thank Nicolo after breakfast, I continue sliding through the mud after my friend, not caring about the rain splattering over my face.

* * *

><p><strong>Karina "Kari" Faust, Fifteen years old, District Seven Female<strong>

* * *

><p>With the morning rain, comes crossing an old and rickety bridge while trying not to fall to your death. Already, I can tell that David is a little nervous about walking across this bridge, but it will take us to the next cliff stump, so he'll have to deal with his dislike for heights for now. We can't hang around one place forever, and that's why we need to move on. If we stick around for too long then, we'll probably run into other tributes. Right now, I'd rather let the other tributes get a bit more tired of the Games before we go on the offensive.<p>

"Are you ready?" I call, alerting David back to the present.

"I-uh…yeah." David answers, and he walks up to me, planting a small kiss on my cheek. "I'll go first, okay? Just to check it's safe."

I can tell that he's either trying to be smart, or brave. I'm going with the latter. I feel an unnatural feeling of happiness at that thought of David being strong for me, but I push it away, focussing on David's progress across the wobbly bridge. He's taking slow, calculated steps, possibly to keep him from falling over the side of the bridge and down to the earth below. We're not that high, but it's definitely high enough to kill someone. Everything is good until about halfway across the bridge, where David somehow dislodges one of the planks, stumbling and almost falling over the side.

"David!" I screech in warning, fearing for the safety of my ally. I shake away my thoughts of over-protectiveness.

_You're only using him. You shouldn't be all over him like some lovesick romantic…_

"I'm okay!" David calls back, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

He gets to the other side without any more trouble. Now it's my turn. I walk confidently over the wooden planks of the bridge, gripping the thick rope that holds the structure together. Staring directly forwards towards my destination, I calmly adjust my balance perfectly to each vicious gust of wind and rain that is sent my way. I'm ten feet from the end of the bridge, when an unfamiliar voice speaks to me.

"Stop!"

I hesitate, not moving, frozen partly from the unfamiliar voice, but also from the threatening command sent my way. Peering through the rainy scene in front of me, I can see the small girl from Two. I freeze up. A career found us. I see that she has a two knives in her hand; one pointing towards David's neck, and the other at me. I growl, taking no chances. Slowly, stealthily, I take off my backpack, and throw it at the career's feet at an attempt to distract her. She looks down at it for a second, frowning. Fingers clenching around the knife in my hand, I smile slightly, hiding my hand behind my thigh to conceal my weapon. I always keep a knife in my back pocket for situations like these, just in case. I decide to take a rather impulsive approach, choosing to attack while the girl is distracted rather than focussed. I launch the knife in my hand at the girls face.

Things don't go to plan.

Immediately spotting the projectile, the girl moves out of the way, leaving the knife to embed itself into a tree trunk behind her. As if on reflex, the girl throws one of her knives at the rope holding up the bridge. The rope severs, the blade falling into the small abyss below. Releasing what's about to happen, I run and jump as far as I can in an attempt to stop myself from falling to my death. I don't make it far enough, my chest colliding painfully with the edge of the cliff. I slip, but I dig my fingers into the mud, my legs dangling below me. Slowly, I begin to slide.

"Help!" I cry out in vain, mainly to David than the girl, but the girl appears to be just as worried, almost regretting her decision to cut the rope. She releases David, running over to me.

"Grab my hand!" she yells authoritatively.

Reluctantly, I grab her hand, and she helps me to get back within safe distance from the cliff's edge.

"What the fuck was that?" I shout, turning from fearful to furious within seconds. First she threatens us, nearly kills me, and then saves my life? What is wrong with her?

"Wait!" the girl implores. "I didn't mean for it to go like that! I was just trying to intimidate you."

I'm about to shout at her, when David touches my arm gently, making me relax.

"What do you want with us?" he asks the girl, moving to stand in front of me protectively. Sighing, the girl brushes her dark hair out of her face before answering us.

"I wanted to ally with you."

The only sound after this unusual confession is the sound of falling rain.

"You _what_?" I question.

The girl scoffs and rolls her eyes. Her whole demaneour changes to a more dismissive attitude.

"Are you deaf?" she replies haughtily. "I want to ally with you. I need your help."

"Why don't you go back to your little career friends?" I sneer.

"If I was friends with them, I wouldn't be here." She says firmly.

"You're probably trying to lure us to them or something." I fire back.

"If I wanted you dead, then I could have left you to die." The girl points out, just as swiftly.

I remain silent after this.

"Look…" the girl says. "I only want to ally with you guys for a bit. The careers have broken up, honestly. I killed Hans myself."

I struggle with my rational impulses, all of which are telling me to either run from this girl or to kill her. But at the same time, what she says is something that I want to believe is true. The careers…broken up? That might explain a lack of deaths recently. The careers wouldn't go out to hunt, because they're all too busy trying to survive on their own. It does make a lot of sense, but…I feel like this girl is hiding something from me.

"I'll even show you the cornucopia if you like," she says, almost slyly. "I'll prove it to you that there'll only be one career there. Maximum."

"Yeah, your ally." I spit, still not believing her.

"Seriously, I was actually thinking of attacking her with you guys," Two explains, seemingly honest. "Three against one means that we can take all the supplies we want while taking a threat out of the competition."

"I think it's a good idea, Kari," David whispers suddenly, turning his head to one side. "We can follow her to where we can see the cornucopia, and if she's lying, then we'll kill her. Two against one, right?"

I bite my lip, staring into David's eyes. They hold so much belief in them that I want to agree with him. Another career gone would clear up the competition, and effectively, we'd be killing a career whether or not Two is right. Overwhelmed by the opportunity, I cave in.

"Fine," I say. "We're sticking with you for now. But if you try to double cross us, you'll regret it."

"No worries, Seven," Two replies, giving us a rather impish smile. "I'll lead the way…"

* * *

><p><strong>Charlotte Moore, Sixteen years old, District Twelve Female<strong>

* * *

><p>Ever since we've woken up, Sedan has been seething. He's obviously still angry from last night, especially with the dirty looks that he's been throwing me and Steven. At the moment, I'm not liking him one bit. Steven and I turn up, offering to help the alliance by making a pack that could potentially take out the careers, but all Sedan seems to think is that we're going to kill him. Obviously, we're going to have to at one point, but it's obvious that we're not planning on killing him any time soon. Sometimes I wish he'd get off his high horse and realise that we mean well.<p>

It gets me so riled up to think that I'm seen as a threat, when all I want to do is help someone out.

These very thoughts spur me into action. I simply can't let him treat me and Steven like this. We need to talk. Seeing him brooding at the edge of our camp, doesn't make me feel any better about his attitude towards us. I stand up swiftly from my chair, making my way towards him. Without warning, an arm blocks my exit. Resisting the urge to break it, I stare up at the owner of the arm, who happens to be Steven. My anger dissipates immediately upon seeing him. There's just something about him that seems to resonate with me on a level that no-one has before. He's like a mythical being; something so mysterious and wonderful at the same time that I'm simply mesmerised by him. He's…perfect. All this time I've been fighting against my feelings for Steven, not really having any idea what they were. It's been the games that have forced my emotions into confusion and misunderstanding. But now, I feel like I've finally sorted them out. I like him. A lot. Like an _I want to go out with you_ kind of like. I almost giggle to myself, but I remember that I'm standing next to the guy I'm thinking about.

"Uh…Steven?" I question, wondering why he's blocking my progress.

"Yeah, Charlotte," Steven says. "I wanted to ask you if you want to go out hunting with me tomorrow? I'm going to volunteer to help out with something before I get yelled at for doing nothing."

I almost faint. This is literally the opportunity for me and him to bond! Steven and I working together on stuff like hunting should give me enough confidence to talk to him about how I feel about him. After all, let's face it, I don't have a big chance of getting out of the arena. Why not have a romance while it can last? Especially if it's in the form of a handsome career like Steven.

"Sure!" I exclaim, happy for Steven to have considered me. I decide to show off a little, by whipping out my knife and throwing it up in the air. Surprisingly, I catch it by the handle. Steven seems impressed, and I shoot him a grin.

"I'm going to check on Sedan," I say. "He's been down lately."

Steven's face darkens slightly.

"Be careful." He warns me.

"I will." I reassure him, walking backwards and giving him a small wave.

But that's where I make my mistake. I don't notice the small log near my feet, and I trip over backwards, making a small squeal of shock as I fall. Unfortunately, the knife slips from my grasp, flying backwards through the air. Shortly after that, there is a pained and angry cry. Shuffling around, I see what damage I've done. My knife has embedded itself into Steven's hand, the blood gushing from the wound. Sedan however is even more furious.

"Nice shot, there!" he yells angrily in his usual sarcastic lilt. "Look what you've done."

"Hey, wait, I'll patch it u-" Derek begins, grabbing a medical kit, but Sedan interrupts him.

"Fuck that!" he cries. "Kill her! She threw this knife at me, and tried to kill me!"

"I did _not_." I reply coldly, feeling annoyed at Sedan's overreaction.

"It was an accident, Sedan," Steven says calmly. "She tripped and fell."

Sedan laughs hysterically, shaking his head. He turns to Derek and Nicolo.

"Don't you realise?" he asks them. "They're messing with our heads. They're acting all nice and friendly, but really, all they want to do is kill us. Well, then take this!"

He rips the knife out of the tree, and flicks his wrist, sending the knife into my arm. The wound burns like fire, and I screech in agony as my own hot blood dribbles over my cold skin. Steven growls and takes a step forward, but I shake my head desperately.

"Don't…Don't hurt him…" I murmur in pain.

Steven instead glares at Sedan and comes to my side, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the knife. Derek hurries over hands him a cloth from the medical kit to stop the blood. I try to breathe evenly as Sedan speaks again.

"Derek, what are you doing?" he spits. "They're totally not going to kill you."

Derek shoots Sedan an unimpressed look, and helps Steven to slowly remove the knife from my arm. Another scream of pain escapes my lips, and I close my eyes tightly to try and block out the pain.

"What's wrong with you, Sedan?" I hear Nicolo say, as Steven presses the cloth over my wound and applies pressure to it.

"What's wrong with _you_?" Sedan retorts. "Don't you see that ever since they've arrived, they've been trying to get on our good side, just so they can take us down? They want to get back home, just like us. Now they have you and Derek as their lapdogs."

"That's not true," Nicolo says firmly. "They're decent allies. All they want to do is help us get rid of the careers, so it's a fairer game for everyone."

I open my eyes, the pain dulling a little bit. I turn to see Sedan shaking his head, looking around at all of us.

"I can't," he says, not a hint of sarcasm present in his voice. "I just can't do this anymore. Good luck."

Sedan walks over to the small pile of supplies, and begins to pack a bag to go.

"Sedan, wait!" Nicolo implores, not wanting his ally to leave the group.

"No!" Sedan snaps, grabbing a sword and using it to keep Nicolo out of his reach. "I expected better from you. But obviously, I'm totally worth your time. I'm needed around here _so_ much. Good luck in the afterlife."

Sedan spits on the ground at Nicolo's feet, grabbing his stuff and leaving through the bushes. For a moment, Nicolo looks as if he almost wants to follow Sedan, but he shakes his head, and runs over to where we are, bringing some alcohol and some water to clean my wound. I bite the inside of my cheek in annoyance at my mistake. I only intended to talk to him about his behaviour. I didn't want him to leave us, but now he has. Sighing a little, I let the others clean up and bandage my wound.

_And then there were four…_I think darkly.

* * *

><p><strong>Tiffany Splendour, Seventeen years old, District One Female<strong>

* * *

><p>It's quiet. Almost too quiet, in fact. It's been four days in this arena already, and I don't feel like anything's happened. So far, there's been a death every day since the bloodbath. It makes my skin itch a little at the fact that more aren't dead yet. Most Hunger Games tend to last about a week or so before they get a victor. At this rate, I'll be here for a lot longer.<p>

I feel like all of the tributes this year have been a lot more elusive than I previously expected. Even Kleska, Taser, Taser's girlfriend, and the weirdo from Two are hiding out, just like the rest of the tributes. Everyone is hiding. I wish they didn't. Sure, we all want to go home, but at the moment, we're all a bit too defensive. Whatever happened to offensive careers?

I recline slightly on the camping chair outside my tent. I've decided to pack down the other three tents, purely to have something to do. I've scouted the area around the cornucopia, but I haven't strayed too far, knowing that there might be some tributes who might want to steal a few supplies from the cornucopia. Each time, my so called 'hunts' have yielded me with no 'fruit' whatsoever. It's not that I mind really, it's just that I get _bored_. I don't have anyone to speak to here. Royce…Essence…Velvet…Mom…Dad…they're all back at home, watching me hold up on my own. Apart from Royce, I bet none of them know that I'm having a child.  
>I wonder what will happen if I manage to tell them. At first, my Dad might get a bit annoyed that I never told him about the baby before, but I know Mom will be understanding. I know Essence will be excited for a new baby in the house. She'd run around the house organising the baby's new room, making the cot pretty with bows and ribbons and knitted blankets. Velvet would be happy for me, being the supportive friend she's always been. She'd want to be the godmother, of course. And finally, Royce, the only person who cares about this baby almost as much as I do. I can almost imagine him, with his arms around my waist and his breath on my neck, smiling with me down at the baby in my arms. A tear springs to my eye, but I blink it back. The baby I imagine is so beautiful in my arms, so sweet and vulnerable. I can only hope that when she grows up, she won't be going into the Hunger Games.<p>

Wait, she? I'm sure I won't mind what gender it is, but I feel like it'll be a girl. I wonder what I'll call her if I manage to get myself out of here. I understand why Royce seemed so downtrodden after his Games last year. The things you see in here are unforgettable. Only yesterday, I had to battle a vicious mutt. It wasn't too hard to defeat, but the image of it will never fade from my memory.

I wonder how long it will be until I have to fight again. I know that there are a lot of other big threats out there. Ever since Hans died, the career group has long been scattered. Taser will probably go and find his girlfriend, and Kleska will probably lie her way into an alliance. The boy from Two still has two members from his alliance…the smiley girl from Six and that stick insect from Twelve. I doubt he'll attack me any time soon; he has his allies to protect. However, I know for sure that Kleska and Taser will probably bring their alliances to me, let alone anyone else who thinks they can oppose me. I'll have to slaughter them all, one by one, but I'll have to play it safe at the same time.

I could stay here for the time being. The cornucopia has supplies, and I have a good base of operations, so to speak. However, it's very exposed, and anyone could come in and copy Kleska's way of killing. Speaking of Kleska, she's bound to attack me later on in the Games. But where else could I go? Maybe on top of one of those cliff stumps? My camp would be more out of the way, but I think it's still vulnerable. Maybe I could set up camp in a small cave not too far from the cornucopia. I might as well look. Grabbing a spear, I spend the next hour searching for somewhere to stay. It's boring work, but I eventually find somewhere about three hundred metres or so east of the cornucopia.

The rush of the waterfall is a lot fainter here, but there's some kind of large lump in the soggy green terrain of the surrounding landscape. It's a bulge in the ground, covered and hidden well by bushes and small trees. There is no way that anyone can find it on purpose. The only way I found it was because I nearly fell into it. It's a spacious cave with soft white sand on the floor, accompanied with green moss and a little water system the trickles down along the edge of it, coming downstream from the higher areas of the valley. It's a lot less muddy and wet than where the cornucopia is. Making my way back, I make a mental note to remind myself that my cave is guarded by a large plant bud. It looks to be some kind of flower that hasn't yet bloomed. It looks mysterious…almost eerie in a way, but for now, I'm using that as a marker.

My return to the cornucopia leaves me with the task of packing. Obviously, I pack up my tent first, making sure to take a large amount of food and bottled water from my current supplies. I also take some matches, kindling, a thermal sleeping bag and pillow, two medical kits, a torch, night vision goggles, a penknife, and three extra throwing spears, each with their own spare spearhead. The bag is heavy, but I know the trip will be worth it. I can move more stuff to my own small cave every day, so when people finally find their way back to the cornucopia, they'll have nothing to take from me. I smile at my plan, knowing that this is a wise move. I know for a fact that I'll get sponsors of some kind for this choice, but I doubt I'll get any yet. I have everything I need, after all.

I dump the backpack in my cave and unpack, before sitting outside for a bit.

Now all I have to do, is wait.

* * *

><p><strong>I love this story so much that it actually hurts. I really don't want it to go, and I don't want any more tributes to die. Sadly, this is the Hunger Games, and it must go on. :'(<strong>

**What do you think about Derek and Nicolo's good friendship? Aha! Kleska has found herself some allies. What do you think of this unlikely trio? So…Sedan has left? Whaaaat! Thoughts on this little interaction? And of course, we all saw this coming. There was no way that Tiffany could defend the cornucopia all by herself, so that was my reasoning. Now what do you think is going to happen with the cornucopia semi-undefended?**

**I'll try to update as soon as I can. I'm doing a lot of things for people, but updates should *hopefully* be more regular now that university has ended. I'm not on schedule, but I assure you, I will be soon!**

**Over and out!  
>~Mental<strong>


	30. Brute Force

**I'm back again! Finally, I'm a lot less bogged down! After finishing a summary for a friend, helping with the summer camp this year, and struggling with a new game addiction, I have finally found a bit more time to write for you guys! I've cleared up pretty much everything I need to do, and so, here is the new chapter :D**

**It has come my attention that I have one or two recycled tributes in my story. Now, I'm not happy with finding this out at this stage in the story, especially when the characters that were submitted to me were so decent. Due to the fact that these tributes died early on in other SYOT's (or those SYOT's are inactive), and because the authors are truly sorry for their mistake, I have decided to continue with their current plot development. Next time however, I won't be so lenient. **

**Also, this is what you've been waiting for! Things are going to start speeding up now, with more deaths (Every. Single. Damn. Chapter.), and more drama for you all to enjoy. I'm very far behind on this story, but there are like, twelve chapters left so I'm going to try and get them done as soon as possible. Keep an eye on the announcements section for when I'm around! Still, even when camping or on holiday, I can take my tablet and it's got a cool keyboard now! That means I can hopefully get more things done XD**

**Thank you to WendyHamlet, Titanic X, and EllipticDART for reviewing! :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

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><p>"<em><strong>When in doubt, use brute force." ~Ken Thompson<strong>_

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><p><strong>Taser Shock, Eighteen years old, District Four Male<strong>

* * *

><p>It's raining. Again. After walking endlessly around the forests of this valley, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone, I can safely say that Mariel is nowhere to be seen. I've been searching for her, trying to meet with her again. I'm hoping that I can join what's left of her alliance, so that I can protect her for as long as I can. Losing her would mean losing my entire world. Her death is unimaginable. Something like that would blow me out of proportion, knocking me out of orbit and leaving me to float aimlessly in the void of pain and woe.<p>

It's been three days since I left the career pack. It probably wasn't the best of moves, but at least we got Hans out of the way. One less threat to Mariel's survival is always welcomed.

I'm a little way up the side of the valley, with the closest cliff stump at my back. I'm sure that there will be tributes up on those stumps, especially since it can be seen as an "out of the way" thing. Plus, it's a good vantage point. There are so many cliff stumps, that I can't count them. I reckon there's at least fifty, maybe less, each stump connected to another by a least two bridges. It makes me wonder if Mariel is on one of those. Belief welling up inside of me, I turn around, and begin heading back to the cliff stump. I've been checking all of this area, but I never thought that Mariel would be up on the cliff stumps, especially if she has a young ally.  
>I finally arrive at the cliff stump, climbing up the ladder with ease. I have to find Mariel...I have to get to her! She is my drive, my motivation, and my best friend. I love her.<p>

Finally reaching the top, I pull myself up onto the cliff stump, which gives me a wonderful green view of the tops of the trees. A few clearings are dotted around here and there, with the largest one holding the cornucopia and the nearby river. Admiring the landscape, I turn…to see her.  
>On the other side of the bridge, Mariel is picking some kind of weird plant, and putting it into her large backpack. Her blond hair is tangled and soggy from the rain, but from here, she still looks stunning.<p>

"Mariel!" I yell, waving my arms.

Mariel's head jerks up, whipping around until she realises that I'm shouting it. She leaps up and waves back.

"Taser!" she cries. "Watch out!"

As first, she seems happy to even hear me again, but her warning confuses me. Her words sink in, as soon as the stick collides with my shoulder. It's a thick branch, and I know that the projectile will leave a bruise. The second stick that comes my way hits me full in the face, smacking my nose. I feel the blood begin to fall in droplets, leaving tracks across my skin. Locking onto my target, I realise that my opponent is the young, smiley girl from Six. She's smiling at me in a rather eerie fashion, almost as if she's lost her mind a little. I have no time to consider this, however. The blood from my nose runs over my lips, and almost automatically, my tongue laps up some of the liquid. An icy feeling spreads over my body as _the dark side of me comes out to play. Well, the dark side, of you, Taser. What's this? A little brat playing pokey pokey with a stick? Well, two can play this game! _

_I reach down and pick up the stick next to me, walking up to the smiling girl and leaning down to her height._

_"…Hello sweetie." I whisper slowly._

_The girl smiles back at me. I reply with a similar smile, before swinging the stick into her face with all of my might. The girl screams in pain as I smash her around the face again, and again, and again. Blood streams from her nose, and her cheeks begin to purple. She feebly throws punches at me, but I feel nothing, her hands bouncing off my strong build. _

_Another swings rewards me with two dislodged teeth, and my following punch results in another tooth flying to the back of the girl's throat, where she begins to choke on it._

_Ah, I almost forgot. I must check on my audience. I look around for the blonde beauty, and alas, there she is, frozen in shock at the scene before her. She turns away and flees. She knows she can't save this girl. She knows she can't have her precious little Taser. But no worries…she's my next meal. I'll make sure to enjoy her death more than I will with this one._

_The only sound the young girl makes is a choked warble, and in response, I slam my fist continually into her face. She thrashes violently as she struggles, pawing at my arms in a weak attempt to be set free. I wonder what will kill her first…the tooth she's choking on, or my fists?_

_Deciding to bring this little show to an end, I grab the girls head, smashing it repeatedly into a nearby tree. The bark is soon painted red, and the cannon confirms my victory. The girl is dead. _

_Wiping my bloody nose (and licking off some of this delicious blood), I sprint across the first bridge. A few cliff stumps away, I make out a fast moving figure, most likely the blonde beauty that Taser is so captivated by. Running across the next bridge, I begin to follow her._

_It's time to claim my kill._

* * *

><p><strong>Luke Coloss, Fifteen years old, District Twelve Male<strong>

* * *

><p>It's time I left this cave. I've spent a good two days here, captivated by its crystal ceiling and overwhelmed with the fact that one of my traps have injured a career. I remember watching from the shadows of the cave as the District Four girl walked in. My traps hurt her alright, but I didn't kill her. Instead, she stumbled away, concussed and disorientated. I'm surprised she survived the mutt attack. I was lucky enough to kill the mutt that came after me, thanks to my spike catapult, which the mutt walked right into. Before it realised, three wooden spikes were driven into its eyes. It wasn't the nicest of sights, but I retrieved my materials and the sticks, hoping to use them again. In the arena, I can't waste anything, or I could potentially lower my chances of survival. We do this back in Twelve, too. Thomas and I often store food away, stretching our meals just that little bit further. We have to do everything we can to avoid starvation.<p>

I found some knives at the bottom of my pack; the ones I'd received at the bloodbath were useful weapons that I've foolishly forgotten about. Nonetheless, I'm reassured with the thought that I can defend myself, especially with these knives. They'll work a lot better than the penknife and sharpened sticks that I've had to deal with thus far.

It feels weird leaving the cave. It's almost as if it's become like a second home to me, filled with its twinkling crystals and chalky floor. It barely takes five minutes for me to pack my small bag of possessions and leave my little hideout. I have to move on; that brush with the girl from Four was dangerous enough. Who knows if a smarter, stronger tribute had found me? I would have been dead in seconds. It was a close call, and I'm lucky to have escaped.

I yawn, before hefting the pack onto my shoulders, one knife in hand. I head to front of the cave, only to hear footsteps.

I freeze.

Someone is entering the cave.

I hide behind a large rock, listening to the intruder. Judging by how quiet they seem to be, I doubt that they'll be a career. So in this case, I won't run. I'll fight. I slowly count to ten, calming myself down. This cave is dark, so I'm going to rely heavily on sound to judge on when to attack.

I listen carefully as the footsteps grow steadily closer…there! Attack now!

With a yell, I leap from my rock, charging at the other tribute. The other tribute is clearly shocked, and doesn't have time to react as I leap on them, pinning them to the floor. I lift my knife high, ready to plunge it into the throat of this person and get it over and done with. I don't want to kill someone, but I know for a fact that it's necessary for me to survive. Through the gloom however, I make out a face. Wide, shocked eyes stare back at me, with long chocolate curls fanned out against the floor of the cave. The girl beneath me trembles slightly. I know that face.

"V-Vella?" I stutter, shocked.

She was the last person I expected to be seeing anytime soon. Maybe it was the fact that I was so reluctant to kill her that I convinced myself that I would never see her, that I would never be holding a knife to her throat like I am now.

"Luke?" Vella greets me, also surprised, but a little afraid as well.

I hold the knife to Vella's throat, unsure of what to do. I don't want to kill her, not at all. She's a connection to my past, yet she's playing against me in a game of death.

I hold the knife tightly. Should I kill her? It would be one more tribute down, and one more step to going home and getting back to Thomas. Spare her? Maybe if I let her live, then I wouldn't have the guilt of killing her. Maybe I could ally with her?

"Did you write the letters?" I blurt.

I'm wasn't sure what I was going to say, so that's sort of what's come out. Vella frowns, waiting for me to continue.

"Back in Twelve, me and my brother used to write letters to someone in another District…well, more like my Mom wrote letters to another woman," I explain.

"Sometimes we got two replies, one from the woman, and one from her daughter…who was called Vella."

Vella closes her eyes.

"Luke?" she asks. "You're _that _Luke? You're the one I wrote letters to all that time ago?"

I nod.

"I am," I confirm. "I don't really want to kill you, but I'm willing to be allies, as long as you promise not to kill me."

Vella smiles slightly.

"I don't really want to kill my pen pal."

I smile in reply, standing up and helping Vella up as well. It's clear that Vella feels very awkward around me. It's the same vibe I felt when I spoke to her during the individual sessions. Both of us aren't good at talking to people, so why can't we work together to overcome that? We'll have each other to lean on. Together, we can both get through this.

"So, erm, do you want to stay here or move on?" I question awkwardly.

"Here's okay," Vella mumbles. "As long as you're okay with that?"

"Um, yeah, I'm fine with that," I tell her. I never really wanted to leave the crystal cave, so I'm happy to stay. "Do you want any beef jerky?"

Vella smiles a little again.

"Why not?" she decides, and the two of us sit down together, beginning to talk.

We started off so far apart, and now we're together. Yesterday, we were enemies, today we are allies. It looks like I won't be killing Vella just yet.

* * *

><p><strong>Kleska Giori, Fifteen years old, District Two Female<strong>

* * *

><p>The walk to the cornucopia is short now that we've come down from those cliff stumps. Karina and David are incredibly careful as to make sure that I don't try and give them the slip. They're idiots. I bet them up on top of the cliff stump, and I'm sure I could kill each of them with no effort whatsoever, even if it is two against one. That's the advantage of having training. Tributes like David and Karina don't stand a chance against the careers, unless of course, the careers are stupid. I know for a fact that I'm not an idiot, or I'd be in my coffin right now.<p>

Leaves tickle my skin as they brush against my fingers. My hands push branches out of the way, and my boots trudge confidently through the muddy ground. I smirk to myself, my expression hidden from David and Karina. They're so stupid. David can't even see that Karina is using him, and Karina doesn't realise that I know she's being a fake ass bitch.

The cornucopia soon comes into view, a golden mass of metal peeking through the bushes. It's clear to see from here, that the tents that once stood around the cornucopia are no longer there. The only evidence that the tents were there is the dying grass they left behind. I smile slightly to myself. Tiffany decided to abandon the cornucopia, leaving it open to pillage from other tributes. I admit that I'm a little confused. Did Tiffany take down those tents, or did someone else? Frowning to myself, I survey the area, making sure that Tiffany isn't hiding out in the bushes waiting to ambush me. Of course...I don't find her, and I don't expect her to be hiding nearby. It's a three versus one situation. She's not foolish enough to attack us.

The river nearby flows steadily and peacefully as I lead Karina and David to the cornucopia. Karina seems tense, and David weary. I forget that most tributes seem to have a stigma about the cornucopia. It's almost as if they associate it only with feasts, death and the careers. It's almost as if it's something to be feared. Hmm, let me see. The career pack are non-existent, the bloodbath has already happened, and there have been no feast announcements yet. Wow, okay, we're all dead. I roll my eyes at my thoughts as I turn around to face my allies.

"What did I tell you?" I say. "There aren't any careers here. You can trust me."

"Um...you're a career..." David mumbles.

"I didn't mean me!" I hiss, but David is too distracted by Karina's giggle to hear my reply. Ugh, get a room already, I feel as if I'm about to puke.

"You were right," Karina says, shocked that I've told her the truth. "The cornucopia is ours for the taking. You can fight with us, Two. But that doesn't mean I trust you yet."

I shrug.

"Fair enough." I reply, having anticipated her answer.

Frankly, I don't care if she trusts me. I'm only here until I decide to kill her, and I'll probably do that when our numbers slim down. I might kill them in their sleep again. Who knows? For now, they can be allies, and I'll make sure that they'll die in my stead. They might even help me kill some of the careers, before I eliminate them from the competition, of course. They're useful for now, but I doubt they will be for much longer. Until then, I can't hurt them.

Walking into the cornucopia itself, my gut tightens as I look over what supplies are left. Of course, Tiffany was probably smart enough to take most of the supplies with her when she left. Either that, or another tribute helped themselves to a second serving of the cornucopia's available equipment. David and Karina stand by as I count what supplies are left. It's a meagre pile, with the supplies probably lasting us a couple of days at most. I guess that sets the deadline for David and Karina's impending death sentence.

"This food won't last us too long," I tell the others. "We'll have it ration it out. Meanwhile, I can hunt for some extra food."

I toss a knife up into the air and catch it, emphasising my point.

"I can hunt too!" Karina announces.

_Not as well as I can..._I think, but I suppose that any help is appreciated. I nod.

"You can hunt as well then," I decide, taking charge. "David could guard the cornucopia while we're gone."

"Consider it done." David smiles, grabbing the short sword from the pile of supplies; the only weapon we have other than a few additional rolls of knives and a slingshot. He slides this into a rip in his poncho, holding his larger sword with ease. I don't ask why he feels the need to have two swords, and he doesn't explain himself.

I smile to myself. It looks like I have a pair of fighters. Nothing that I can't handle, but they're strong allies. They're ready to fight for their survival. So am I.

We're not giving up just yet.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Massai Puna, Twelve years old, District Eleven<strong>__**Male **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 24**__**th  
><strong>__**Florescent Neista, Fourteen years old, District Five Female **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 23**__**rd  
><strong>__**Rachelle McKenzie, Fifteen years old, District Three Female**__ - Stabbed in the heart by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 22**__**nd**__**  
>Adelaide "Addie" Plum, Twelve years old, District Nine Female<strong>__ – Neck broken by Taser Shock. __**Placed 21**__**st  
><strong>__**Ali Combs, Seventeen years old, District Eight Female**__ – Beaten to death by Taser Shock. __**Placed 20**__**th**__**  
>Skyla Truce, Sixteen year old, District Ten Female <strong>__– Speared to death by Tiffany Splendour. __**Placed 19**__**th**__**  
>Hans Schmittling, Eighteen years old, District One Male – <strong>__Throat slit by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 18**__**th  
><strong>__**Kip Lightcomb, Sixteen years old, District Ten Male – **__Mauled by mutts. __**Placed 17**__**th**_

_**Zest Churna, Thirteen years old, District Six Female:**__ Zest was a sweetie, my dear little optimist! Sadly though, her optimism would only drive her to great lengths…so much so that she eventually went slightly insane, or at least, that's how I decided to put it. I didn't have much to play around with for Zest, and I'm afraid, that's why she died at this point. In fact, she easily would have left us back in the bloodbath if I hadn't found a small use for her. I knew that she would serve a small purpose in getting Mariel and Taser to come together, and so, I eventually decided to keep her around for this. I enjoyed writing her nonetheless! __**Bludgeoned to death by Taser Shock. Placed 16**__**th**_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Alliances:<strong>

**Quartets: **

**Steven "Spray" Krane  
>Nicolo Boone<br>Derek Schutze  
>Charlotte Moore<strong>

**Trios:**

**Kleska Giori  
>David Peterson<br>Karina "Kari" Faust**

**Duos:**

**Franz Wight  
>Shaune Greyson<strong>

**Vella Contessa  
>Luke Coloss<strong>

**Solo:**

**Tiffany Splendour**

**Mariel Tide**

**Taser Shock**

**Sedan Bristol**

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><p><strong>Day Four is done now :)<strong>

**I am aware that this story needs to be finished now. I've dragged this on for quite a while, and I feel that all of you guys need closure. **

**If you wish to ask my any questions about this SYOT, and what I love about it, or any personal questions, feel free to ask them on my tumblr ( a-relentless-fire), or PM me the questions. I feel like you guys need to know me a lot better! ;D**

**So, Taser has gone completely bloodthirsty again, and now he's gone off and killed Zest. Of course, he's lumbering after Mariel now, so will he kill her or not? What do you think will happen? Luke and Vella are now allies! Do you think they'll make a good team? Karina, Kleska and David have secured the cornucopia. Smart move or not? Who do you think will fall next? Speaking of death, will you miss Zest?**

**Feel free to read and review, all of you are freaking awesome! I have lots of plans for different things, but I will update as soon as I possibly can!**  
><strong>Over and out!<strong>  
><strong>~Mental<strong>


	31. Bloodlust

**I'm so happy that this camping trip happened, because I've just finished one chapter, and I'm straight onto the next one! I'm not posting chapters all at once, or I'll just drown you in them, but instead, I'm planning on uploading what chapters I've done every now and again. As for my announcements section, I will try to post while I'm here in Malta. I'm not massively contactable, but I'm hoping that I will be able to keep on connecting for the sake of uploading chapters. **

**According to my plan, we're going to have a lot of people dying. These next two chapters have deaths, followed by two with a lot of fighting, followed by three with even more death. That then drops us off at the finale. Considering we have fifteen tributes left, the pace of this story is speeding up now, and it's obvious that there is some lovely death coming up ;D. I know that I should have spread these deaths out, but at least I can reward you all for reading with a lot of death, and hopefully a dash of feels as well! This story should finish at around the end of this month to make way for the sequel to this story, Picking Up The Pieces, when it closes submissions.**

**Speaking of that, it's up! If you want to submit, I would be grateful for it! Thank you for all of your support so far, let's get going to the end of this story! XD**

**Dislcaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

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><p>"<em><strong>Fate might forgive greed, or gluttony, or even bloodlust, but it never ignores being ignored." ~Erik Bundy<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>Steven "Spray" Krane, Seventeen years old, District Two Male<strong>

* * *

><p>This morning's grass holds its usual pearls of dew, balanced on the soggy blades and saturated soil. The ground itself has become somewhat uneven, probably from the amount of moisture that has seeped into the ground and frozen overnight. I've noticed that. The nights are getting a little bit colder now, almost as if the Gamemakers are reminding us that they're still watching us. I know that they're bound to do something soon. I have a horrible feeling in my gut. I prefer to follow reason rather than emotion, but even I know that this feeling must mean that something bad is going to happen.<p>

Our days are numbered.

And I don't like it.

My strategy has always been to help others and to sacrifice my life to save them. However, the longer I survive, the stronger the urge to fight for my own life. It's stupid really, just a small lapse of judgement, but it's annoying me. I should be devoted to keeping the weaker tribute safe, not thinking about my own victory. If I'm dying to save someone, then I'm dying an honourable death.

I know that my family's name will be tarnished for this, but again, I don't care. They'll still get by. Give it five years, and everyone will have forgotten me. Life will go on. The other, weaker districts need to have a chance. They need help, for they are drowning in their own despair. That's why I'm going to help them. If it's anything to ease the pain for a year, then I'll do it. That one year could make a difference that could change so many lives.

The mood in our camp today is a bit somber. Zest's face appeared in the sky last night. Despite the fact that she was a little annoying, guilt clouds me. I should have spent longer looking for her, I should have tried to find her. But we were running from the mutts, and I had to save Charlotte.

I had to save myself.

Sedan's departure left both Nicolo and Derek feeling a little unhappy. I think both of them know that Sedan leaving was for the best, but it worries me that one of them might leave too. My mind flocks to Nicolo. He seemed closer to Sedan than Derek was. Even so, his friendship with Derek shares a stronger bond than his friendship with Sedan. Derek and Nicolo just seem to click. I've seen them together. If they had more time, then I reckon that they would become best friends. One, if not both of them, only have a few days left to live. I'm surprised that they've grown to trust each other.

Today, despite the mood, Charlotte and Nicolo are going hunting. They're heading a mile downstream, hoping to find some decent game to bring back. We're slowly running out of supplies, and we need some for our survival. I reckon we could survive a day at most with what we've got. We're all in danger of starving to death, and that won't be any good if we want to survive.

Charlotte hefts a small backpack onto her thin frame, while Nicolo talks to Derek to one side. Deciding that Charlotte looks a little lonely, I walk over to her. As she looks up at me with wide eyes, I realise with a jolt that I'm very protective of her. She seems so fragile, and yet, she's sixteen. I would have expected her to look older, or stronger. I guess there's just not enough food to go around in Twelve.

I embrace her.

"I'll see you this evening," I say. "Stay safe, and stick with Nicolo, okay?"

"Yes, I'll do my best," she smiles, but it's somewhat grim. "We'll be back before you know it!"

I offer her a reassuring smile. It's obvious that she's worried about going hunting with Nicolo alone, especially after what's happened recently. But this is how it has to be. We're taking turns hunting. None of us are killing each other. Therefore, we are still an alliance, no matter how rocky things might be at the moment. It's not Derek I'm worried about. He's got a good head on his shoulders, and he only blames those who have done wrong. He told me himself that he didn't blame anyone for Sedan's departure. It was his fault. He overreacted. As for Nicolo, I'm unsure. He seems upset, but he hasn't lashed out at any of us yet. I can only hope that the future will be bright.

Derek leaves Nicolo to go over to Charlotte, where he quietly strikes up a conversation with her. It's weird how he seemed so shy and awkward in training, walking around with Skyla, and just going ahead and doing what he did best. I walk over to Nicolo, who is adjusting the strap on his backpack. He's changed too. He's become more confident when speaking to people. In a way, they've both helped each other to get stronger.

"Hey, Nicolo," I greet. "Have a safe trip out there, yeah?"

"Thanks," he says, sounding a little melancholy. "We should be fine. I remember seeing some deer a mile downstream, so I figured that there was the place to go."

"It sounds like a smart choice to make," I comment, punching his shoulder lightly. "Keep an eye on Charlotte, will you? I don't want her to get in any trouble."

"Er...yeah," he replies. "I'll keep her safe. Don't worry."

"Good luck, and I'll see you later."

"Later."

Well, that was awkward. Maybe I was wrong about how Nicolo has changed…

As Nicolo and Charlotte walk off through the bushes, I sit down and talk with Derek, Nicolo's depressed state playing on my mind. I hope that Sedan isn't getting inside his head. I convince myself that everything will be fine when Nicolo and Charlotte return. I'm sure it will all be okay.

Or so I hope.

* * *

><p><strong>Franz Wight, Twelve years old, District Three Male<strong>

* * *

><p>I smear on the gooey mixture with my fingers, the paste still warm from the heat of my mouth.<p>

I've been grinding up these healing plants for the last half an hour, trying to heal some of Shaune wounds. I'm kind of stealing this technique from the instructor at the plants station, but at this very moment in time, I don't care. Keeping Shaune alive is imperative to my survival. I need a protector, a bodygaurd, a friend to help me get back to Mariel. There's no other way I can live through this game.

While Shaune's been unconscious, I've found myself sobbing, reduced to an emotional wreck. I can't keep the strong facade up for Shaune when he's asleep, the emotional stress I'm experiencing is too much for me to handle. Shaune's injuries are extensive, with several serious burns from the explosion littering his chest and face. He's alive, but I know he's in bad shape. The last two days have been a hectic whirlwind of trying to keep him alive.

My stomach grumbles. Most of the food has been coaxed into Shaune, and I've barely eaten anything myself. I don't particularly care. A human can last without food for quite a while. I may be thin, but that doesn't mean I'm malnourished. Plus Shaune is more important right now.

Times like these call for all of my strength, but that has yielded a sense of guilt. Fainting at the bloodbath was probably the smartest thing I've ever done, but it was at the cost of my allies. Rachelle and Florescent are dead as a result of my actions, or at least, that's what it feels like. Maybe if I hadn't fainted, then I could have saved one of them by distracting the careers. I feel forever guilty because I couldn't save them.

The person I feel for the most is Mariel. Two of her allies are dead, and one of them is far away from her. I wonder if Mariel is still searching for me, like I am for her. Has she given up yet? She might be searching for Taser, too. I asked her about him, and from her answer, I can tell that they were good friends. I just hope he doesn't go all evil like he did to those dummies in the training centre.

I shudder.

No, I would hate that. His eyes are the scariest part of him; how they're so dark that a single look could tear you to pieces moments before he actually does. He could easily be the cause of the Six girl's death. I didn't really speak to her, but I feel sorry for her parents. I compose myself as I feel myself wanting to cry again. No, I can't cry. The Capitol see me as enough of a child already. I miss home so much...but I can't let it show. I have to conceal my pain, so they don't think I'm feeling it.

Through my worries and doubtful thoughts, comes hope, in the form of a merry tinkling tune. A silver parachute falls gracefully from the sky a few metres away from me. A sponsor! My heart leaps in delight as the parachute lands gently into my hands, marked with a silver '3'. However, the tinkling doesn't stop there. Another tune plays, exactly the same as the first. I sit there, gobsmacked as a _second _parachute drops from the sky, landing just short of Shaune's head. I peek at the silver box attached to the parachute; it sports a figure '5' on its lid. My box is large and square, whereas Shaune's is smaller, and more cylindrical in shape.

I look in interest at Shaune's box, but I decide to open my own first, just in case Shaune decides to wake up. I slowly detach my sponsor from the parachute with shaking hands. Someone sponsored me? I didn't think anyone would, but it looks like they have. I smile, happy that someone out there cares for my wellbeing. The feeling fills me and strengthens my shattered confidence, as I take the lid off the silver box in my hands. Inside, lies a note. I pick up the thick piece of card to read the letters inked upon it.

_Stay alert. If Mariel survives today, she'll head to the waterfall. You'll need her to defeat the careers. ~L_

I bite my lip nervously at the note. It obviously from Leila, but her words are anything but comforting. 'If Mariel survives'? What does that mean? Does that mean she's under attack? I'll need her to defeat the careers? Does Leila have enough confidence to believe that Shaune, Mariel and I can take down the likes of the other careers?

I count the tributes in my head. There are fifteen of us left, including Mariel, Shaune and myself. We all have to kill twelve other tributes, in order to eliminate the competition. Leila mentioned that the careers are people that we have to kill first. We have the bushy haired girl from One, the knife girl from Two, the boy with bombs from Two, and Taser, from Four.

I think things over carefully. Mariel can get Taser on our side, because they're friends, right? If Taser comes onto our side, then that leaves three careers versus two careers and Shaune. Shaune can smash those bombs away, so he can hold out on the Two boy while I attack from behind. I know that the Two boy has a weakness for small tributes like me, so he probably won't hurt me. That much was obvious in the training centre. Taser is really strong, so he can take on the vicious girl from One with the big hair, and Mariel can take on the girl from two with those knives.

I smile to myself. If we manage to get Taser on our side, then we can give the careers a run for their money. I think I can see why Leila might believe that we can take them down. It's obvious that despite her age, she's perceptive. In a way, she's a lot like me. I'm young, but people don't realise that I have eyes. I guess that plays out to my advantage in some situations.

Moving the note to one side, I open the square box. My eyes widen at the items inside. The box holds a small loaf of bread, a pot of cream cheese, and a serrated silver dagger. My stomach grumbles at the food, but I ignore it, instead reaching for the dagger. I grab my current weapon, and compare the two. The sponsor dagger is shiny and silver, with a razor sharp edge, and a seven inch blade. The dagger I'm holding is thinner and weaker in comparison, and roughly four inches in length.

Smiling, I place the knife back in its box, astounded by the generosity of the sponsor. How could Leila afford to pay for this? It dawns on me as my fingers close around Shaune's sponsor. Of course. Rachelle is dead, and Leila is using Rachelle's sponsor money to keep me alive. Rachelle was fiery, she seemed pretty strong. No wonder people sent in sponsor money. It's a shame she had to fall for me to have received this.

"Thank you, Leila..." I whisper to the sky.

I open Shaune's sponsor. Inside, there also lies a note. I know I'm being nosy, but I can't stop myself from reading it.

_Your ally is stronger than you think. Remember, you might have to use him as a decoy. Don't get too attached. ~ N_

My expression is grim as I put the note to one side. I'm not surprised to see that Shaune's mentor is telling him to do this. For all I know, Shaune's actions could be an act to get me to lead him other tributes. Using me as a decoy is clever, and it completely slipped my mind. On the other hand, I doubt Shaune would do that, especially since he's told me that he won't listen to his mentor. Apparently, he thinks it's all rubbish. I can see why he'd think that.

I open Shaune's tin and smile. Of course. Burn medicine. It's a lot like what many tributes before me have received; a clear liquid that's cold to the touch, and that soothes and heals burns on the skin. There are still lots of tributes in the arena, so even something like this medicine must be ten times cheaper than it is later on in the Games.

I take some of medicine and begin applying it to Shaune's wounds. This medicine could damn well save his life, and I'm happy for that.

We still have moves to make in this game.

We're not going down that easily.

* * *

><p><strong>Mariel Tide, Eighteen years old, District Four Female<strong>

* * *

><p>Here is where it ends.<p>

That much, I can tell.

After running across bridges, and stumbling my way across cliff stumps, I'm met with the ever present problem I've been running from. He's the hound at my heels, the knife at my neck, and the mould to the milk. I should have forseen this. I should have prepared myself for the fact that Taser might hunt me down and kill me. I knew it was a possibility, but I never envisioned that this would actually happen. I never expected myself to be reaped for the Games, let alone being stranded in this valley to fight for my life. Yet, here I am.

The weather is ironic, considering I'm about to fight someone else to the death. You'd always think that sad things such as these would be shrouded in mist or torrential rain, but today's scene is bright and sunny. I can hear the waterfall roaring a couple of cliff stumps away. I could run, but it's far too late for that now. There is no longer the option to flee, at least, not when Taser stands a few feet away from me.

I'm tired of running, and now I must stand and fight. It's not in my nature, and it's not what I want to do, but at this point, I realise that I have no choice. The time is nigh. In fact, it is now. I must fight Taser, the man I love. I must either kill him, or he will kill me in the most painful way imaginable.

"Why, hello there," Taser chuckles darkly. "What a lovely view."

My heart shatters at these words. He is not my Taser, instead, consumed by his lack of control. I push all of my dreams away, leaving them in the dark recesses of my mind. This is going to break me, but what other option do I have? I decide to at least play to the sponsors.

"Indeed it is, darling," I trill. "Do you want to take a closer look? I heard jumping off was fun."

Taser only smiles, his green eyes dark and predatory.

"I've waited so long for you..." he growls.

"You have," I confirm. "But do you really want to fight me, when all that will happen is your death?"

"You're bluffing," scoffs Taser. "I'd like to take a second look at this view when your blood is all over it, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, I don't think that's going to work out," I say pleasantly. "I mean, I can't enjoy the view. I'll be dead."

"Well, I'll enjoy it alone then." he chuckles, unsheathing his sword from its scabbard.

His backpack, and his trident lie to one side. I look at the knives in my hands. I have one in each hand, with another ten hanging from my belt, ready to be ripped off and thrown. I can't hold back, no matter how much I want to.

"Let's get this over with..." I mutter, getting into a throwing stance.

For a few seconds, nothing happens, both Taser and I tense and coiled like a spring. He fixates his dark stare upon me, and I reply with an icy glare of my own. Then, almost suddenly, he leaps towards me, swinging the large sword in his hands. I duck, slashing at him with my knife, only for a boot to my shoulder. I'm spun off balance, but I roll out of the way of Taser's next slash, which digs into the ground next to me. I kick hard, catching Taser on the wrist and knocking the sword from his grip. The weapon lands near the edge of the cliff stump, covered in mud.

I stand back up, shrugging off the dull, throbbing ache in my shoulder. Taser calmly faces me, not even bothering to get his sword. I smirk, and he smiles back, ever the eerie. I launch the first of my knives at him, followed by a second towards his sword. Taser catches my knife as I rip two from my belt. My other knife hits his sword, causing both the knife and the sword to topple over the edge and down into the depths below.

Taser doesn't appear to care, throwing my own knife back at me with deadly precision. I quickly make an 'X' formation with my knives, resulting in the knife glancing off my weapons and cutting my cheek. I wince, but I'm thankful for the injury. If it had been any different, I would probably have been dead.

Taser sprints towards me, tackling me to the ground. I'm crushed a little by his weight, but that isn't my main concern right now. Not when Taser has his large hands around my neck, crushing my windpipe. I choke, panicking. Getting the butt of my knife, I start smashing him in the head with it. Black spots appear across my vision. My throat burns with my gasps for breath. I smash Taser one last time in the head before it all goes black.

The weird thing about being unconscious, is that you feel like you're out for a couple of seconds, instead of a couple of hours. When I come to, the world around me is bright, and it's very hot. With my eyes watering, I sit up. I swallow with difficulty, for the process is painful. My fingers lightly dance across my neck. It's obvious that Taser's handprints are there, a necklace of purple for me to wear for the next few days.

I survey the scene. The sun is high in the sky, almost directly above me, with the waterfall still roaring away. With a jolt, I turn and find Taser, staring at me fondly from one side. There's a large black bruise on his temple, probably as a result of my attempts to knock him out. Everything about him seems calm. He's not the animal he was the last time we spoke, or at least, that's what it looks like. He's back.

"I finally found you," He smiles and reaches for my hand. "Thank goodness I found you."

He pulls me into a hug, and I embrace him, tears leaking from my eyes.

_I'm not dead. He's not going to kill me. I'm safe. _

Taser's gentle fingers brush over my bruises and the scratch on my cheek sadly. He looks disgusted with himself at what he's done.

"Those are my war wounds." I joke, attempting to lighten the hate Taser must be feeling for himself.

"A wound?" he questions in a light-hearted tone. "That is but a scratch! The wounds that seep are the ones that fall from their eyes. Their tears will shine as clear as day, like the memories of the corpses that will soon lie before them, forever oozing nightmares."

"Where did you get that from?" I ask, pulling out of his embrace.

It's an odd phrase, something that I've never even heard of before. I wonder what its significance is.

"I write a bit from time to time," he says dismissively. "I make poems or diaries of stuff when I'm bored."

"I didn't know that." I smile, interested.

"It's something that I've always kind of kept to myself." He replies, rolling a blade of grass between his fingers.

"I wish I could hear a few more of those." I wonder aloud.

"I'll remember that," he says. "I don't think you'll hear many more though."

I play with his fingers. Of course, for a moment I forgot that Taser won't be alive in a few days.

"I don't want to you to die," I say. "It's not fair that you have to die. What am I going to do with my life afterwards?"

"Don't be stupid, babe," Taser says. "You're clever and you're strong. You'll help the Districts and those in need. You'll do whatever you can to help. Once I'm dead, I want you to move on. I want you to find another to warm your heart like I have."

I bite my lip.

"I'm not ready to move on yet," I say. "I just want to relax and not have to worry about anything. Just you and me."

"Then let's relax for a while," Taser says. "Then we'll go for a romantic walk next to the waterfall."

He steals a kiss from me. I giggle.

"Ew, romance?" I joke. "That makes me want to hurl."

Taser laughs at that, wrapping his arm around me and leaning back to enjoy the view.

Smiling, I enjoy this moment, for it could be my last piece of happiness I could ever have on this earth.

If I could, I would replay this moment forever and never stop it.

For the first time in this arena, I'm happy.

And I'm safe.

* * *

><p><strong>Nicolo Boone, Fourteen years old, District Eight Male<strong>

* * *

><p>We've finally arrived at the hunting spot. Derek and I both agreed that here was a good place, filled with various game and edible plants, so I figured that coming here was probably the best option for our dwindling food supply. Charlotte follows close behind me, almost as if I'm her lifeline. She seems to trust me a lot more than Steven does. Nonetheless, I'm going to try and keep her safe. Despite the awkward conversation with the career, I know that Charlotte means a lot to him, so I'll do my best to protect her.<p>

We eventually arrive at the spot.

"We're here," I say aloud. "I'll see if I can grab some game, and in the mean time, you can gather berries and plants here."

Charlotte nods.

"I'm okay with that," she says meekly. "Don't be gone too long, okay?"

"I won't." I promise, offering her a smile.

I find that talking to Charlotte comes a lot more easily than talking to Steven. Maybe it's the fact that he's a career that makes me have this natural mistrust for him. In actuality, he's here to help. Sometimes, the stigma around careers should not always be there at all. If I remember correctly, the girl from Four isn't with the careers either. Maybe not all careers are as bad as we think they are.

I walk through the brush, trying to focus on finding some game. It's weird...there don't seem to be many animals around here. I expected this area to be more abundant with game, but apparently, the animals must have gone somewhere. Unless...

A shrill scream pierces my ears, one that could only belong to Charlotte.

Someone must be here.

I waste no time in turning and running back through the greenery.

By the time I'm back at the clearing, Charlotte is on the ground, shaking, and Sedan is standing over her, looking furious. Where the hell did he come from? With horror, I realise that I've led Charlotte into a trap. The animals around here must have run off while Sedan was hunting. Plus, this was one of Sedan's favourite places to camp. I'm an idiot! Of course Sedan would stay somewhere he liked.

Charlotte appears to be unharmed, other than a few bruises, maybe. Sedan seems intent on giving her a torturous death rather than a quick and simple one. I run to him, pushing him away. He stumbles back, but maintains his balance. I grip my javelin as he turns to me.

"I didn't think that you'd ally with the enemy, Nicolo." he says stiffly.

"We've already had this conversation," I sigh. "They're not the enemy. They're here to help."

"It looks like there's no swaying you, then," Sedan replies, visibly saddened. "I'm sorry, Nicolo."

Gripping his sword with two hands, Sedan slashes at me vigorously, of which I can barely block with my javelin. His slashes slice off some of the grip, but otherwise, nothing happens. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Charlotte recovering, getting up from the floor shakily. I jut out my javelin, which Sedan neatly dodges. He comes up the side of my javelin, lunging for my chest. I jump out of the way, the sword's tip nicking my arm as I do so.

Charlotte grips her knife and dives into the fray, bravely leaping onto Sedan's back and bringing him to the ground with her. Sedan drops his sword, the metal landing in the mud. I would join in the fight, but I'm worried that I'll stab Charlotte instead of Sedan. Sedan wriggles with all his might, ripping the knife from Charlotte's hands, and plunging the knife down towards her. She grabs his hands, and let's out an unnerving screech.

Wait, what?

Charlotte appears to be furious, her face red, and veins popping out of her forehead. Yeah, she's pissed, and she's going crazy, but for a reason I'm unsure of. She spits in Sedan's face, giving the boy a healthy punch afterwards. With his nose broken, I kick Sedan off of Charlotte, leaving him sprawled on the floor. With Charlotte's knife in hand, his eyes flick from Charlotte to myself, eyeing up which target to take.

Charlotte doesn't let him decide.

She springs towards him like a prowling cat, but Sedan is smarter than that. Charlotte is blinded by her anger, while Sedan is not. As she leaps towards him, he lunges towards her, stabbing her directly in the sternum. Charlotte isn't done for yet, however. With tears leaking from her eyes, she knees him in the groin.

"Now, Nicolo!" she yells, as if possessed by some strange burst of confidence. It probably stems from this sudden temper of hers.

I waste no time in throwing my javelin at Sedan. He's lost his mind, and it's obvious that he doesn't realise that Charlotte is our ally. A small stab of regret shoots through me as I throw my weapon, but there's nothing I can do about it now. My javelin soars through the air, before impaling Sedan through the heart. His wound explodes, red blood splattering the ground upon the javelins impact. Sedan makes a kind of gurgling sound, before keeling over, the javelin still in his body. His cannon fires.

I run over to Sedan, snatching off his backpack, and ripping out my javelin. I resist the urge to vomit at the squelching sound my weapon makes as I drag it out of Sedan's chest. After doing that, I hurry over to Charlotte, who is sat down next to a tree, hand over her wound. She's long pulled out the knife that gave her that wound, sitting there with closed eyes. She's breathing slowly, calmly, with the odd bloody cough.

"Charlotte!" I cry. "Are you okay?"

"Not really..." she mutters. "He got my chest, and...it hurts...so much..."

"W-well, I...um...I'll grab some bandages." I reply, and start sorting through some medical supplies.

There aren't many bandages left, and that's all that's in the medical kit now. We have to get back to camp as soon as possible.

Charlotte's going to be fine.

She has to be.

I'm not giving up yet.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Massai Puna, Twelve years old, District Eleven <strong>__**Male **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 24**__**th  
><strong>__**Florescent Neista, Fourteen years old, District Five Female **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 23**__**rd  
><strong>__**Rachelle McKenzie, Fifteen years old, District Three Female**__ - Stabbed in the heart by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 22**__**nd**__**  
>Adelaide "Addie" Plum, Twelve years old, District Nine Female<strong>__ – Neck broken by Taser Shock. __**Placed 21**__**st  
><strong>__**Ali Combs, Seventeen years old, District Eight Female**__ – Beaten to death by Taser Shock. __**Placed 20**__**th**__**  
>Skyla Truce, Sixteen year old, District Ten Female <strong>__– Speared to death by Tiffany Splendour. __**Placed 19**__**th**__**  
>Hans Schmittling, Eighteen years old, District One Male – <strong>__Throat slit by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 18**__**th  
><strong>__**Kip Lightcomb, Sixteen years old, District Ten Male – **__Mauled by mutts. __**Placed 17**__**th**__**  
>Zest Churna, Thirteen years old, District Six Female – <strong>__Bludgeoned to death by Taser Shock. __**Placed 16th**_

_**Sedan Bristol, Seventeen years old, District Six Male:**__ I wasn't sure what to do with Sedan when I got him. He was definitely a bit of a challenge to write, and I've spent hours trying to do a decent representation of sarcasm. It is my biggest weakness in writing, and as a result, I have decided to kill him off now. He was never a victor for me, but he was a unique character, in which I enjoyed using in my plotlines for this story. __**Impaled by Nicolo Boone. Placed 15th**_

* * *

><p><strong>So, there's the next death for you!<strong>

**Mariel and Taser have had their fight. What do you think of the fight scenes so far in this story? (I hope they're alright O.O) Franz and Shaune are back in the game, thanks to their sponsors! How far do you think these two are going to get? Do you think Charlotte is going to die? What did you think of Sedan; did you like him or not?**

**More death next chapter, followed by a brief no death spell, and then even MORE death. Again, I want to apologise for leaving you for over a month. This year has just been a crazy whirlwind of things going on. I mean, I'm doing three SYOT's at once right now, and I'm still somehow alive. **

**I'm keeping up with my depression well. I had a spell for the past few weeks, but everything feels so much happier right now. Maybe that's because Picking Up The Pieces is getting good reception, and because I'm relaxing more because it's the summer. **

**How has your summer been so far? **

**The next chapter shall be will you as soon as possible. With all of this spare time, Seeping Wounds will definitely be ending by the end of August. It's priority over Veil Of Ignorance and Picking Up The Pieces, so lucky you ;D**

**Over and out! **

**~Mental**


	32. A Dance Of Death

**I'm back again! **

**I've had a change of plan! Day Six will no longer be three chapters, but instead it will be a marathon chapter, containing twelve POV's. This feast is a big thing, and people are going to die! For now, enjoy this chapter, with…oh! More death? HURRAY! XD**

**Thanks to MornieGalad Baggins, 212degrees, 20, Titanic X, Alecxias, and EllipticDART who reviewed! :D **

**Here's to you guys and to the last stretch of the story. Everyone who has reviewed this story is awesome!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way shape or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>We do not remember days, we remember moments." ~Cesare Pavese<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>Luca Fawkes, Twenty-four, Head Gamemaker<strong>

* * *

><p>So far, so good.<p>

Things are going to plan, as much as I don't really want them to.

The tributes are fighting, and it's hard to watch. Yet, I must watch closely nonetheless. I can't miss a minute of it. It's weird…one minute, I feel for the tributes, and the next, I'm glued to the screen. With every death my heart pangs, and yet I still watch the tributes fight. I'm sick in the head.

Ziphandel walks up to me.

"President Snow wishes to speak to you, Sir." She tells me.

My jaw clenches, but I nod.

"Alright, answer him."

Ziphandel clicks her fingers at one of her Gamemakers, and they press a few buttons. The screen showing the tributes in the arena is swiped to one side, instead projecting Snow's face onto the white wall.

"Hello, Mr Fawkes, Mrs White."

"Yeah hi," I drawl, already lapsing into my mask reserved solely for the President. "Is there's something you need, President?"

Ziphandel says nothing, merely giving the President a curt nod.

"Yes, Mr Fawkes," Snow replies. "In fact I do. Let's just say that your…'show'…has been a little…lacklustre shall I say, for the entertainment of the Capitol."

I snort.

"Well, this will be the best Games ever, so tell them to hang tight."

"I don't think you understand, _Luca_," the President tells me stiffly. "Your death rate is abysmal, your arena is lacking flair, and the Capitol is getting bored. I recommend that you do something about it. We won't have to revise our agreement that way."

_Our agreement…pfft. _My mind scoffs.

That's no agreement. He's forcing me to comply to his rules, or I'll lose everything I have in this world. I don't want to end up dead. I don't want my family to end up dead. Snow is pushing me to my very limit. I have to push back.

"On it right away, Sir." I reply, and the call abruptly ends.

Ziphandel and I stand in silence for a few seconds.

"We're going to need to change our plans for these Games," she says. "Any ideas?"

"Bring them together. Force them together. Bait them," I tell her. "We need the tributes to clash."

"I'll get onto that right away." She nods, quickly hurrying over to the announcement and communications centre. I move over to temperature control and regulation. We're going to have to accelerate our previous plans for these Games. Faunon is messing around with dials, but he stops when I stand next to him.

"Something you need, Mr Fawkes?" he questions.

"Yes, Faunon," I reply. "Increase the temperature from eighteen to twenty-nine degrees celsius. Also, alter the moisture level to eight four percent for the flowers. It's time they were brought out."

"Doing it now, Mr Fawkes!" Faunon practically shouts, and he starts preparing the rise in temperature.

Leaving the red skinned Gamemaker to his dials, I make my way over to Maine, my chilled Muttation supervisor. His spiked white hair is almost like a beacon; I can see it anywhere.

"Maine," I say. "There's been a change of plan. Prepare the next mutt. How long will preparation time be?"

"Give me about twenty-four hours or so," Maine replies, his voice calm and steady. "They'll be ready then. Are you sure you want to poison all of these tributes?"

"Not all of them," I remark. "Maybe one or two though. It should thin out their ranks. And then prepare for upheaval straight afterwards."

"Upheaval will take another twenty-four hours, Sir." Maine informs me.

"Don't worry about that. It'll round off the Games nicely. If all goes to plan, we shall have our finale very soon."

"As you wish, Sir."

I leave Maine's blue eyes to look over his mutt designs, as Keira, head of Arena Design and Supplies walks over to me, followed closely by Ziphandel.

"I've sent in some booster packs for the event," Kiera says to the both of us, flicking her hair out of her eyes. "One for each tribute."

"Excellent," Ziphandel replies. "I've alerted the communications sector, they're going to make the announcement to the tributes within the hour."

I nod.

"Excellent work," I say "You're dismissed."

Everything is ready to go.

Now all I have to do is sit back and wait.

* * *

><p><strong>Charlotte Moore, Sixteen years old, District Twelve Female<strong>

* * *

><p>Pain.<p>

My wound hurts. My head hurts. All of me hurts. The fight with Sedan seems to have taken a lot of out of me. My wound is bleeding heavily, and I can taste blood in my mouth. Some of it has dribbled out. I know that I won't last much longer.

The fight with Sedan was swift, but we won, nonetheless. Nicolo killed him, but he's distraught. He's killed his ally, a friend, even, and he's failed to protect me. I'm not stupid. I heard what Steven said to Nicolo before we left. They were talking about me. He wanted me to stay safe, and Nicolo was the only one who could do it. My heart warms at the thought of Steven's protectiveness over me. Steven…does he like me back? I've been trying to push away these feelings, but there's not a chance at keeping them at bay. I like Steven, a lot. I love his smile and how kind he is, I love his strength and how respectful and sincere he can be.

But of course, I was playing two games at once. I was playing with love, but I never saw the dance of death creeping up behind me. It caught me out. At the start of all of this, I never expected how bad the Hunger Games would be. I never anticipated the blood, the slaughter, the hellish aura that surrounds this place. And now, here I sit, with my back against the rough bark of a tree. Bleeding out. Trying to stay awake for Nicolo.

Nicolo's been good to me, although it's clear that he's not good with medical stuff. I have a bandage or two applied to my wound, but he hasn't realised that Sedan's blade pierced my lung. I can feel it. It gets harder to breathe with every passing second. I know I'm dead. I know I'm a goner. Nicolo is trying to stop the inevitable, but I appreciate the effort. It means that he really cares about keeping me alive.

My anger is the reason I'm here. After everything that could have killed me, my temper was the cause. I was reckless, foolish, stupid, even. If only I hadn't lost my temper. It was Sedan's fault. He groped me as we fought for dominance. I mean, who the fuck does that? Maybe it was by accident, but at the time I was furious. I saw Sedan as a pervert, a creep, an asshole.

Take me back two weeks, and I wouldn't have thought this. But the Games change people, and as much as I've wanted to remain myself, I've given in to the changes the arena forced me into. And eventually, it has led to my death. One wrong move was all it took, and now I'm here, wincing in pain every few seconds, and coughing weakly.

I leapt at Sedan like a rabid animal, furious at him for what may have been an accident. I guess it helped us to win the fight. Nicolo impaled him and Sedan died.

It was so simple, Sedan's death.

Nicolo threw his javelin and then it was over for Sedan.

It's over for me, too.

"You're going to be alright, Charlotte," Nicolo keeps repeating, his face pale with shock and hands shaking in worry. "You'll be fine!"

I wish I could laugh and tell him otherwise, but it hurts too much to speak. I want to say something, just one thing at least, before I am welcomed into the arms of death.

"I liked Steven," I gargle. "I liked him a lot."

Nicolo stops and looks at me, almost as if he's a deer in headlights.

"You mean as in…like like?" he questions me.

I nod feebly, coughing up more blood. My body shudders painfully. Nicolo takes my hand comfortingly.

"Now," he tells me. "We're going to rest up here, and then we'll go back to the others. You can tell Steven when we get back if you want?"

I laugh, but it comes out as more of a pained hiss.

"Tell him…" I get out. "Tell him to win for me."

I can feel myself slipping away, almost as if one would slide down a slope. It's a graceful decent, really, a nice change from the action that transpired a few moments ago. My thoughts flicker to my parents. Will they miss me? Do they care that their only daughter is dying? Of course they do. They must.

All I've ever done in blend in. I was a nobody, just a girl that everyone stayed away from. I was always the person to be feared back at home. I was always the one never to get too close to. I was just the toy that nobody ever cared about. I was just the girl who tried to love someone as any normal person would. And, like the hundreds of children who died before me, I'm dying too.

I feel a tear slip from the corner of my eye, sliding down my cheek.

It tickles a little.

I smile.

It's not a genuine smile, but I'm wearing it anyway. In a way, it's almost comforting to smile. I imagine wearing a smile if Steven and I ever got together. I imagine wearing that smile if I ever had any friends that cared about me. If only life had been different. If only I hadn't been reaped. If only Sedan hadn't stabbed me…

But he did. I was reaped. Life was never different.

My life is this. It's now. It's here.

And it's ended.

* * *

><p><strong>Vella Contessa, Fifteen years old, District Eleven Female<strong>

* * *

><p>A cannon booms in the distance.<p>

_Another one down. _I think. _Another step closer to home. Another step closer to being reunited with the children. _

There are thirteen of us left now. Our numbers are thinning, and we're dropping like flies, swatted away by either the Capitol or each other. It's getting closer to the finale, and this alliance with Luke might be stretched to fit. Who knows what could happen in the near future? Who knows if Luke and I will end up against each other in mortal combat?

I shudder slightly. I don't want to imagine something like that happening. Sure, I'd fight Luke if the time came, but I wouldn't want to. As much as my instincts might scream at me to get away from Luke or to kill him, my heart forces me to stay. There's something about him that keeps me grounded by his side. As soon as he mentioned the letters, I knew that he wouldn't hurt me. Or at least, not for now.

The problem as of now is the issue of trust. I having some serious trust issues with Luke, even though he's done nothing wrong. I'm sure it's something I can get over, but it's preying on my mind like fleas to a hound. I trust him enough not to kill me now, but what about later? Not to mention, these mixed feelings I have of Luke make me feel awkward and shy around him. I've never had a kid my own age act so nicely towards me, and Luke's attitude has caught me off guard. All the older kids at school were all horrible people, and every adult I knew was a liar.

Chive Hart, my mentor, flashes in my mind. She's strong, yet comforting and she knows when to say the right thing. I was shy around her at first, but we warmed to each other whenever Massai wasn't around. His creepy stares alone were enough to take me back to those dark alleyways, where old men followed me with their relentless lust. Her advice has been useful so far, but I'm unsure of what she'll say about this alliance. Maybe she'll see it as a good thing. Maybe not.

For now, I'm left in an awkward silence with Luke, who sends me a side-along glance every now and again. I get the feeling that he wants to talk to me, but he's not exactly sure how. This alliance won't last if we're continually awkward to each other. I have to force myself to speak, as much as I hate it.

"Another one is down," I manage to get out. "Who do you think it was?"

Luke makes a small jump, which makes me smile. It's endearing how I've surprised him with speech, but I discard those feelings for the undivided attention on the conversation. Who am I if I can't even hold a simple conversation? I might as well learn how to hold one now, rather than later. My lack of sponsor's line up with how bad my interview was. I'll be surprised if I get a sponsor at all. O the other hand though, I do have a decent training score, so maybe that might help me, providing I survive.

_Get it together Vella! _I think desperately.

"I don't know," Luke replies honestly. "It could be anybody."

"It's the second cannon we've heard in fifteen minutes," I inform him. "That can't be a coincidence."

"It can't," Luke agrees. "There's a fight somewhere. Either it just ended, or it's still happening."

I lead the way through the brush, the twigs making slapping sounds as they scrape against our bodies. The scene we walk into is a gruesome one. Upon entrance to a small clearing, we discover the first body, its mid-section sporting a large hole. Chunks of flesh and blood are splattered around the body. Holding down my vomit, I look over to the two figures huddled by a tree.

The Twelve girl is dead in the arms of the Eight boy, who's shaking.

"No…no…no…" he whispers over and over again. "I promised him….you can't die on me."

He appears to be in some state of shock, obviously wishing that his ally was still alive. I narrow my eyes. I don't remember seeing either of those two allied in the training centre. Wasn't the Eight boy with the boys from Six and Nine? Repulsed, I study the corpse next to us. It looks vaguely like the Six boy. Could it be him?

_What even happened here?_

"Oh shit…" Luke whispers, turning my horror into words at the scene around us.

Luke's comment is heard by the Eight boy, and he looks up before narrowing his eyes. The boy seems to mentally steel himself, before leaving the Twelve girls body and grabbing a long javelin from the ground nearby. He stand up, looking at us with a hostile glare. It's obvious that he's a mixture of afraid, scared and upset, but he stands his ground.

"Vella?" Luke asks, stepping back towards the Six boy's corpse.

"Yeah?" I reply.

"Are we fighting this guy, or should we get out of here?"

Luke question sends me into a river of doubt. What should I do? I mean, his so called allies are dead, and the boy is distraught. Plus, we do have the upper hand. However, the boy is unstable, and he's good with those javelins. I weigh up the pros and cons in my head.

"We're fighting." I decide, hoping that I don't regret our decision.

I prepare myself, cracking my knuckles and gripping my knuckle dusters tightly. Luke does the same. Spotting the Six boy's sword, he grabs that and hefts it, ready to fight. The Eight boy simply stands there, a hollow look in his eyes, but fire in his stance. He's close to giving up, but he's not gone yet.

Luke makes the first move, charging at the Eight boy and slashing at him. The boy juts out his javelin, causing the weapon to glance off. Luke is caught off balanced, but simply recovers, swinging at him again. The javelin is pushed up, forcing Luke to break off his assault. For a moment, nobody moves.

And then, swiftly, the Eight boy attacks. A repeated series of thrusts from the javelin keep Luke on his toes, dodging the sharp end of the weapon by a hairs breadth. I then leap into action, surging forward and kicking the javelin off target. If I hadn't have kicked that away, then Luke would have been stabbed. I grab the spear and battle against the boy's strength, trying to wrench his weapon of out his hands. Luke attacks in the meantime, but somehow, the Eight boy twists his weapon, blocking any attacks while wrestling it from me at the same time. He sends a harsh kick my way, but I block it, instead, going for a neat uppercut, which stuns him.

Stumbling back, he prepares his stance. Narrowing his eyes, he smacks the butt of the javelin into Luke's side, while I try to get in close with my punches. Things don't go so well. The Eight boy feints to the left, but stabs right. I don't manage to dodge in time, his javelin sinking into my left side. I cry out in pain, my hand clamping to my side to try and stop the hot, wet blood from spilling from my wound. The Eight boy winces slightly at my cry of pain, but jabs at me again, hoping to go in for the kill.

I'm saved, luckily. Luke grabs my shoulder and jerks me out of the way, standing in front of me in a defensive stance.

"Stay back!" he warns the Eight boy.

My wound sends out indescribable pain with every beat of my heart. It's like a fire…I can barely push past the veil of pain to focus on what's happening before me.

The Eight boy doesn't look like he cares, instead leaping at Luke again. The two engage in battle, metal clinking and clashing; Luke slashing, and the Eight boy jabbing. I'm left to move back into the shade of a tree, leaning on the trunk to support myself. Luke does a clumsy pirouette in order to escape the Eight boys stab, and the Eight boy stumbles back to escape Luke's deadly blade. It's almost like a dance…a dance of death that forces both of them to battle. One of them will die. One of them will live.

Luke makes his final move, lunging forward and plunging his sword into the Eight boys chest. The Eight boy makes some kind of guttural sound, followed by what sounds like a sigh. It's almost as if he wanted this, as if he wanted to escape what happened around him. Luke slides his sword out of the Eight boy, who keels over. His cannon fires.

"I'm sorry, Nicolo." Luke mutters, bending down and closing the Eight boy's eyes for him.

Luke's face is filled with pity, but he has a sense of inner duty about him. It's obvious that he didn't want to kill the Eight boy, but he did, and he knew he had to in order to survive. I'm grateful to Luke for saving my life, but I'm a little sad that we've had to kill someone. Only one can live in the end, I guess. I'm surprised that Luke knew Nicolo's name. Did he monitor everyone's names in the training centre and commit them to memory?

As I lean against the tree, breathing deeply, Luke rifles through the dead tributes' supplies, finding a bandage and what's left of the medical supplies. He bandages me up, trying to make sure not to hurt me. I still yelp in pain a couple of times, but that can't be helped.

"That's all we have…" he says woefully, after finishing with the bandage. "It will last the night, but I don't know what we'll do after that."

At this point, a burst of static is heard, followed by the shrill squeak of a microphone. Out of it, comes Dallas Cornwall's bouncy tone, although it's taken on a more…sinister quality.

"Tributes of the Eightieth Annual Hunger Games, congratulations on surviving thus far! Tomorrow at noon, a feast will be held at the cornucopia. Now, before you write this off, it's definitely worth going. The only food and water left in this arena will be at the feast tomorrow. Good luck, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favour."

I look at Luke.

Despite the fact that I'm wounded, and despite the fact that feasts are usually a bloodbath, we have to go. We have no option. Starve to death, die of thirst, or fight, and maybe escape with our lives. The odds aren't in our favour at all, but we have to try.

Not trying at all would be giving up.

And that's not something I'm ready to do.

* * *

><p><strong>David Peterson, Seventeen years old, District Seven Male<strong>

* * *

><p>"We need a plan," Kleska says. "We need to be ready for what's to come tomorrow."<p>

"Well, we _do _have the cornucopia…" I say, my voice croaking a little bit.

"What?" Kleska asks, and I repeat what I've said.

That's a small problem of mine. Sometimes I'm too quiet, so much that I have to remember to be loud enough for people to hear me. I was always a shy kid, and even after all that's happened I still have to break my habit.

"We may have the cornucopia, but we're still going to have to defend it," Kleska points out. "Everyone's food and water is going to be here, not to mention some extra weapons and supplies, as well."

"So…we're going to have to kill people?" Karina asks.

"No, we're going to braid each other's hair," Kleska replies, rolling her eyes. "Of course we're going to kill them!"

Karina nods, gritting her teeth. She doesn't look like she wants to kill, but like me, she knows that our survival is more important. I lace my fingers through hers in an attempt to reassure her. She's smiles gently at our entwined hands, and a feeling of pride wells up inside of me at her happiness.

"I'm sorry," Kleska mumbles, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I forget that you're not careers."

"Hey, it's fine," Karina says warmly. "You're used to being around careers. You trained around careers. Even your friends back home are probably careers."

Kleska looks up and gives Karina an unnaturally soft look. It's almost as if she's let down the guard that was there. Gone is the rough, fiery Kleska we've seen, and instead, there sits a child. Just a simple girl, fighting like everyone else is. Fighting to get back home.

"Thanks, Karina." Kleska says gratefully. "I wonder what it must be like in Seven."

"It's different back in Seven," I say. "The Hunger Games isn't a thing, and yet we're still semi-trained with a weapon. All of us are expected to go into the lumber business, but I've never really wanted to do that, and neither have any of my friends. We're different though, outcasts."

"You're an outcast?" Karina questions, shocked.

"I am."

"It sounds like you're some kind of awkward boy band," Kleska snorts. "Anyway, the plan. Any ideas?"

"Well, one of us has to stay here and guard the supplies at the mouth of the cornucopia," Karina says. "And the other two of us should shadow the surrounding area and attack anyone who comes our way."

"It sounds like a plan," I say. "I'll volunteer to go out and stop people from getting here."

"I'm pretty good with my knives, so I'll help you on that." Kleska says, quick to comment. I raise an eyebrow but say nothing. She may be quick to reply, but maybe she has Karina's safety in mind as well.

"That leaves me with guarding the cornucopia then." Karina nods.

"So we're set," I say. "Are we all ready for tomorrow?"

Kleska nods and Karina squeezes my hand gently. I kiss her on the forehead, ignoring Kleska pretending to be sick and telling us to get a room. I caress her cheek lightly and smile. She's so beautiful…I'm lucky to have her, even if it will only be for a short time.

The sky has darkened to a pinkish blue, the day turning to night as the stars awaken and twinkle to us from above. The anthem begins to play, booming across the arena. Three cannons fired today. I wonder who died.

The first face to show up in the sky is the boy from Six. He was a pretty strong competitor, I think, so I'm a little relieved that he's out of the way. The stick thin girl from Twelve appears next. And finally, the boy from Eight. Wait, weren't he and the boy from Six allied with the boy from Nine? Did the boy from Nine kill them? I make a mental note to be weary of him, just in case.

I'm not sure about what tomorrow will bring. Other tributes, especially what's left of the careers, will surely take a visit to the cornucopia. I'll have to be on high alert, and I'll have to be careful.

Tomorrow is Judgement Day.

I just hope I'll live through it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Massai Puna, Twelve years old, District Eleven<strong>__**Male **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 24**__**th  
><strong>__**Florescent Neista, Fourteen years old, District Five Female **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 23**__**rd  
><strong>__**Rachelle McKenzie, Fifteen years old, District Three Female**__ - Stabbed in the heart by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 22**__**nd**__**  
>Adelaide "Addie" Plum, Twelve years old, District Nine Female<strong>__ – Neck broken by Taser Shock. __**Placed 21**__**st  
><strong>__**Ali Combs, Seventeen years old, District Eight Female**__ – Beaten to death by Taser Shock. __**Placed 20**__**th**__**  
>Skyla Truce, Sixteen year old, District Ten Female <strong>__– Speared to death by Tiffany Splendour. __**Placed 19**__**th**__**  
>Hans Schmittling, Eighteen years old, District One Male – <strong>__Throat slit by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 18**__**th  
><strong>__**Kip Lightcomb, Sixteen years old, District Ten Male – **__Mauled by mutts. __**Placed 17**__**th**__**  
>Zest Churna, Thirteen years old, District Six Female – <strong>__Bludgeoned to death by Taser Shock. __**Placed 16**__**th**__**  
>Sedan Bristol, Seventeen years old, District Six Male – <strong>__Impaled by Nicolo Boone. __**Placed 15**__**th**_

_**Charlotte Moore, Sixteen years old, District Twelve Female:**__ Charlotte was a great character, especially with her difficulty with her feelings for Steven, and her worries about being someone who just blends in. She had a ferocious temper, and I had to showcase that. Of course, when you're angry, you don't make the best decisions. For Charlotte, that resulted in her death. She was lovely to write, and I'm sure that she will be missed. __**Bled out from a sustained injury. Placed 14th**_

_**Nicolo Boone, Fourteen years old, District Eight Male:**__ Nicolo was very similar to Derek in the way that he was quiet and thoughtful. It felt to me almost as if he was a philosophical character. I did like to write Nicolo, but I'm afraid that two against one was always a losing battle for him. There was no way he could have survived. It's a shame he had to go so soon! __**Stabbed in the heart by Luke Coloss. Placed 13th**_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Alliances:<strong>

**Trios:**

**Kleska Giori  
>David Peterson<br>Karina "Kari" Faust**

**Duos: **

**Steven "Spray" Krane  
>Derek Schutze<strong>

**Franz Wight  
>Shaune Greyson<strong>

**Mariel Tide  
>Taser Shock<strong>

**Vella Contessa  
>Luke Coloss<strong>

**Solo: **

**Tiffany Splendour**

* * *

><p><strong>And now we only have twelve tributes left! I have put up a poll on which three tributes you want to be in the finale (I'm just interested on who you think will winwho you want to win at this point). Have fun voting ;)**

**Luca…something is happening! What do you think the feast will be like? RIP, Charlotte and Nicolo! Will you miss either of these two tributes? Do you like Vella and Luke's alliance together? What do you think of David, Karina and Kleska's plan for the feast?**

**I hope to update soon for you all! Enjoy :D**

**Over and out!**

**~Mental**


	33. Judgement Day

**Finally! Sorry it's taken so long again, you know what's happening right now. Still, things are starting to clear up at little bit, it's just the emotional burden. But yes, I won't bother you with that. Let's try and be positive! :D**

**To any of the Picking Up The Pieces readers, the next chapter is on its way, and should be here sometime this week hopefully.**

**Yes, I'm in a fickle mood, so Day Six will not be a marathon chapter, but two chapters with 6 POV's. I have gotten into the swing of things at uni now, so I'm hoping to update fortnightly (every two weeks) for you, if not more than that, because I need to get to the finale before I get to the train rides in Picking Up The Pieces. **

**I'm really excited for this, so let's just jump right in :D**

**Thank you to thelastofdavid, Sophia, Mayasha-chan, Santiago, EllipticDART and ALKNxStories who reviewed! I really appreciate all of this continued support. I'm pretty sure I have some of the most dedicated fans on FanFiction, because you guys are still here with me! Thank you for that :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Judgement comes from experience, and experience comes from bad judgement." ~Simon Bolivar<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>Taser Shock, Eighteen, District Four Male<strong>

* * *

><p>"Let's go!"<p>

Mariel hurries ahead of me, leaping gracefully from rock to rock, carefully balancing and clambering her way towards the small lake at the bottom of the waterfall. Here, the water laps gently over our hiking boots, the lake having overflowed slightly in the waters haste to find its way down the river. Drizzle hits me full in face, the spray of the waterfall drenching my poncho within seconds. I follow Mariel as fast as I can around the rocks, but I eventually give up and jump into the lake.

Mariel's shout of worry and surprise pierces the water as I swiftly break the surface. I spit out some water and give her a thumbs up, letting her know I'm okay. I take off swimming to the side of the lake, swiftly passing Mariel, who's still on the rocks. She takes the hint and soon jumps in after me, securing her belt of knives to make sure she doesn't lose any of them.

On the other side of the small lake, I pull myself out of the water, soaked to the skin. I'm a bit cold, but I'm satisfied for the wash. I haven't washed for days, and the feeling of water against my skin is heavenly. Mariel soon joins me at the lakeside, watching the waterfall crash down onto the water below. There's a small, unstable path to the far side, which leads around the back of the lake. It looks like there might be something behind the waterfall…maybe a cave?

I'm interested, and I'm about to alert it to Mariel, when a burst of static can be heard, forcing me to wince and cover my ears.

"Tributes," Dallas Cornwall's voice springs to life in the silence of our environment. "The feast begins…now! May the odds be ever in your favour! Remember: without these supplies, you will not find it easy to survive the coming days."

All thoughts of the cave are pushed out of my mind upon this announcement. The feast! We have to go. Getting useful equipment will ensure Mariel's survival. However, there will be dangers. Tributes, potential mutts…the stakes are high.

"We need to come up with a plan," I tell Mariel. "We need to survive this."

"But how?" Mariel questions me. "There are so many threats out there that we can't defend ourselves against all of them."

"I think I might be able to help with that!"

A light, chipper voice pipes up from behind us. Both Mariel and I turn around, looking for the source of the sound. Behind us stands the small twelve year old boy from Three, accompanied by the giant from Five, who looks thinner and weaker compared to when I last saw him in the training centre. I suppose the Games are affecting all of us in some ways.

"Franz!" Mariel cheers, and she leaps up to greet him.

"Mariel!" The small blond replies.

Franz runs up to Mariel and gives her a big hug, his face a wide smile, and no traces of tears on his cheeks. He's changed too. He's matured, grown up a little. The cry-baby I remember has been replaced by a confident young boy, who's ready to do his best to survive. Maybe he's aware that he may not live much longer. Maybe he's still blissfully oblivious to the horrible things he might encounter.

After a brief reunion, Franz steps back and set his green eyes on me. He stares at me for a few seconds before nodding once.

"Is he okay now?" He questions Mariel innocently.

Her only reply is a smile and a nod. Upon this news, Franz bravely walks up to me and sticks out a hand.

"I don't think we've met before," he says, somewhat nervously. "I'm Franz."

I take his small hand and shake it firmly.

"Taser," I answer smoothly. "It's nice to meet you."

The giant from Five shifts awkwardly behind Franz, capturing the boy's attention.

"What's got you so shy, Shaune?" the boy questions, worried, but Shaune doesn't answer instead greeting us each with a nod and two blunt, short words.

"I'm Shaune."

I nod in the most welcome way that I can, and Mariel follows the suit, going as far as to shake his hand. It's obvious that Shaune has some trust issues. Before any awkwardness can flare up between us all, Franz immediately takes control.

"I heard you guys want to go to the feast?" he enquires. "Shaune and I were thinking the same thing."

"Yeah, we're planning on going to the feast," Mariel answers. "But slow down. What happened to you? I lost you at the bloodbath, and I've been worried about you ever since. I never managed to find you, wherever I looked."

"Shaune saved me," Franz explains. "I fainted during the bloodbath, and he took me away, keeping me safe. I've been with him ever since, and we've been trying to find you as well!"

"Thank you for keeping him safe…" Mariel says warmly, looking directly at Shaune.

"Don't mention it." Shaune gets out, bowing his head in acknowledgement.

Strands of white hair fall over his face, but he brushes them out of his blue eyes.

"So, you said you could help us with a plan?" I ask, prompting Franz to continue with the agenda.

We need to move, and fast. If we don't get there in time, we'll never be able to gather enough supplies to survive. If Franz has a plan, we need to hear it and put it into motion as soon as possible.

"Right, yes," Franz agrees. "I got a note from my sponsor saying that we should meet with Mariel here, because she can help us take down the careers. At first, I didn't understand what Leila meant, but now I realise that the feast is the perfect time for us to strike. The other careers and big threats out there are likely to have split up in order to stop other tributes from getting near to the cornucopia. This means we're able to take them down without any external interferences. Leila believes that Shaune, Mariel and I have the potential to take down the rest of the careers. Obviously with your help Taser, we'll have a better chance of success."

"But surely if we all attack the careers as a group, we'll never get to the cornucopia on time?" I counter.

"Which is exactly why I changed that aspect of my plan," Franz replies. "The key here is to distract. Shaune, Mariel and yourself can distract the careers while I run in and grab supplies. I'll meet up with all of you and we can escape. Our priority here is getting supplies so we can prepare ourselves to attack the careers. If we can attack as a group _after_ we have the supplies, then that will also play out to our advantage."

"So your plan is to distract, grab, and run?" Mariel clarifies.

"Yeah," Franz shrugs. "While you three distract, I'll grab supplies and we can all get out of there."

"Sounds good to me." Shaune mutters.

"Well…are we ready then?" Franz asks us.

In reply, I heft my trident with a confident smile. We can do this. Surely with the four of us, we can overpower the careers. Mariel flashes her knives and nods once, while Shaune heaves a large metal cylinder onto his shoulder. Franz fishes a long knife out of his small backpack and smiles bravely, his face streaked with mud and sweat. I can tell that he's dying inside right now, scared for what's to come. I know the feeling. I could be dead within the next few minutes, and that's not a nice feeling for anyone to have.

Mariel looks around at all of us.

"We're ready." She confirms.

"Then let's go!" Franz cries, and he starts running, leading the way towards the cornucopia. Mariel, Shaune and I follow hot on his heels. For the first leg of our journey, the only sounds I can hear are our heavy breathing and pattering feet. We move at the same speed as Franz, not wanting to leave him unprotected or tired out from running too fast for too long. It's strange…I feel a surge of protectiveness for him, probably like Shaune and Mariel do.

At first, it seems as if we won't bump into anyone. We speed through the damp forest and the long grass, the trees scratching gently against our ponchos and puddles splashing by our feet. It seems quiet, and hope rises up inside of me. Maybe we will get to the cornucopia without being attacked. Maybe w-

"TO YOUR LEFT!"

Shaune bellows a warning, and I react just in time, diving to the right to escape the green ball that lands nearby. I grab Mariel, and Shaune grabs Franz, all four of us leaping out of the way just as the green ball explodes. I feel the intense heat on my face as I dodge the explosion. I'm grateful for Shaune's warning; I would have died if Shaune hadn't said anything.

"Thanks." I tell him, and he nods wordlessly.

We all stand up slowly, Shaune leading the way forward.

"Over there!" Mariel cries, and Shaune reacts by swiping at the air to our left. I hear a metallic _clang_, before another green ball explodes in the forest to our right.

A short distance from us, I finally see our attacker. It's the boy from Two, but he doesn't seem to have anyone with him. If I remember correctly, all of his alliance are dead. Still, that's not stopping him from trying to kill us.

"You're not getting through here." The boy from Two calls, blocking us off from the path to the cornucopia.

"You wish!" shouts Franz bravely.

"I'll hold him here," Shaune tells us. "I'll distract him. You guys go and get the supplies."

"We'll be back soon." Franz promises.

He stops for a second before giving Shaune a quick hug around the middle. Seconds later, he's speeding ahead, Mariel hot on his heels. I follow them swiftly, dodging bombs that are thrown my way. I bend down as I run, hiding behind some bushes so that the boy from Two can't see me. After a few minutes, I turn back to see Shaune twirling his cylinder and deflecting the bombs. I can only hope that he doesn't die.

For the next five minutes, we continue to run. I can still hear the explosions behind us, but they're getting fainter with each hurried step we take. Making our way into a clearing, we rush over to the other side. A spear suddenly comes flying out of nowhere, aimed straight for Mariel's head.

"No!" I yell, tackling Mariel to the ground, the spear sailing straight over our heads.

Franz gulps, looking at where the spear came from. I turn to see the owner of the spear walking out of the bushes, another spear in her hand and a smirk on her face.

It's Tiffany.

I stand up, helping Mariel up as well. She's a bit shaky, but she looks okay.

"Well, well, well," Tiffany comments dryly. "What a surprise. The psycho, his bimbo girlfriend, and their child."

She snorts and rolls her eyes.

"Looks like I'm not the only one here for the party," She continues grimly. There's a kind of tiredness in her face, an expression that suggests she doesn't really want to be here. "Even the dirtiest of work has got to be done."

"It does," I agree, stepping forward. "But we won't be the ones dying, Tiffany. Not yet."

"We'll see about that." Tiffany replies.

"You two should go," I tell Mariel and Franz, my eyes locked on Tiffany. "I'll hold her here."

Mariel squeezes my hand, and leaves with Franz. I try and hold on to the memory of her, in case I'm the one to die here. If I'm dying then I want my last thoughts to be of Mariel. Tiffany looks like she wants to throw her spear, but I can tell that she's too smart to do so. It would leave her weaponless.

"Good luck, Tiffany." I tell her, gripping my trident tightly.

Her face softens. I can tell that she hates this just as much as I do. She hates killing people. But at the same time, she knows she has to, or she'll never get out of here. That's why her reply is as sincere as I'll ever know her to be. One of us will live. One of us will die.

"Good luck to you too, Taser."

* * *

><p><strong>David Peterson, Seventeen, District Seven Male<strong>

* * *

><p>"It's time."<p>

Kleska's words bring me back to reality. I look over to her, fear reflected in my eyes. I shouldn't be scared, not really, but I am. It's settled in the pit of my stomach, and it's making me feel sick. It's time for us to fight for our survival.

I turn back to Kari, who looks on edge. Like me, she knows that the stakes have been raised. By the end of today, both of us could be dead. I squeeze her hand gently in reassurance. I know that she'll be safer here at the cornucopia, especially seen as Kleska and I are acting as a buffer for other tributes. We'll have to be on the offensive, the ones to attack and to kill. It's not something I'm going to like, but I know I'm going to have to accept it. Killing someone…I never thought I'd have to do it. I'd rather be a home, taking apart my small machines and learning about what makes them whole. I'd rather be with my friends playing soccer right now.

Guilt floods me. I haven't even thought that much about my friends since I got here. I wonder how worried they must be. Reid…Mateo…Owen…together we are all outcasts, an infamous group that banded together to survive. They don't want to see me die. They don't want their group to be whittled down to three, with their fourth member six feet underground. I don't want that either.

"We'll be back soon." I promise Karina, picking up my sword.

She can only nod nervously, rubbing her hands together and taking a deep breath. She's scared. I'm scared too. I'm just trying not to show it. Kleska leads the way into the forest, her footsteps silent. Her presence is almost ghostly as she scouts the area for tributes. Is this what careers are trained for? I suppose they are. It's almost as if every moment is registered, every sound recorded. It kind of makes me wonder how Kleska ticks. If I had the opportunity, I would have been interested in watching careers train, learning how to scout out tributes and to stay alive in the heat of battle.

But of course, we all know their one weakness.

Survival.

Careers tend to make a lot of mistakes. They always think about the fight, so much so that they just expect the supplies at the cornucopia to be handed to them. But they can be foolish, over confident even, in their approach. Sometimes they'll underestimate tributes, or they'll kill each other off too early. Tributes are becoming stronger and mentors make more mistakes. Sure, careers still win often, but there's a higher chance for outlier tributes to live as well. The stakes are becoming more balanced. In some cases, it's anyone's game. This time though? I'm unsure. If the remaining careers stay alive, then it might become an all-out brawl.

I guess it could work to my advantage, providing I survive. All of the careers would be too busy killing each other to focus on Kari and I, so we'd survive for a while that way. But there comes the issue of our alliance. When will Kari call it off? I'm aware that this relationship we have between us can only last so long. She's captured my heart, and I've captured hers. I can only hope that one of us die a quick death in order for the other to win.

"Karina seemed nervous." Kleska speaks up, her voice penetrating the silence surrounding us.

"She's probably scared," I reply. "We're all in danger…it could end at any time for all of us."

"Maybe," Kleska considers. "But she could also be worried about you."

"Of course she's worried," I say. "One of us could die."

"But is she even worried about you as David, or you as an ally?" Kleska questions slyly.

"…What are you talking about?" I query, confused.

"Are you sure that she's not only concerned about herself?" Kleska continues. "Is she really in this for you, or are you a toy for her to play with?"

I stay silent at this point, and Kleska doesn't prompt me to speak. Her words leave me dumbstruck and confused. Surely she loves me? Surely she can't be using me? She seems so invested in our survival, just like I am. In many ways, I'm confident that Kleska is lying to me. She's probably assuming something, or she's being cynical. Yet, at the same time, I can't help but to wonder if she's right. I can never know for sure…not unless I ask Kari myself. If we both live through today, I think I'm going to talk to her about it, just to make sure we're okay. I mean, I know that one of us has to die, but that didn't call for Kari to play around with me.

I shake my head. _What is wrong with me? _She would have betrayed me by now! She would have used me as a decoy to Vella back when we fought her, or she would have kicked me down for the mutts to devour. She wouldn't have thrown that knife at Kleska on the bridge if she didn't want me to live. I smile to myself. I'm pretty sure we're fine. Kleska is another matter. I know that Kleska's using us to keep the careers away from her, but what she doesn't know is that we've been using her for protection. When we get back to Kari, I'll tell her about what she said.

I don't want to, but I know we'll have to take Kleska down.

It's kill or be killed, right?

"There's a fork in the path here," Kleska notes, slowing down. "We should split up and scout the area."

"Good plan," I say. "I'll take left and you take right?"

"Sounds good to me," Kleska shrugs. "Hey, don't die on me okay?"

She sounds genuinely concerned for my safety, and her face mirrors her tone. However, I can't help but to feel like Kleska is playing her own game with Kari and I as her pawns. In answer, I smile and nod.

"You too."

And with that, we part ways.

* * *

><p><strong>Kleska Giori, Fifteen, District Two Female<strong>

* * *

><p>With David out of my way, I can finally continue with my plan. Believe it or not, this small plan of mine doesn't really focus around killing that many tributes, but it's a good way to keep everyone where I need them, especially Karina. Over the past couple of days, Karina has pretty much been the leader of our small alliance. Nothing annoys me more than someone asserting authority over me, so I'm planning to put her in her place. Of course, she's still quite useful to me at the moment, so I think that I'll plan on beating her at her own game.<p>

I'm not fooled about her little love act with David. It's obvious that she's using him, so much so that I decided to tell him about it. He needs to know the truth, so that's exactly what I decided to tell him. Who gives a fuck about his dumbass girlfriend? The relationships not even fucking real, so I might as well make him realise that he's being played. He should be dead by the end of today anyway. I'm planning on killing him and using Karina to take out one of the other careers or something. She'll probably pretend to be angry since she has to keep up her act and everything.

Anyway, the plan.

I'm looking for Steven. It's about time I killed him off, and I've been looking for him, with no such luck. It's not just killing him I want either; it's those green exploding balls he carries around with him. At the bloodbath, he had a sack filled with them. I'm thinking that killing Steven will give me an edge, providing I grab those weapons of his. Then from there, it should be plain sailing. I'm an expert at throwing a knife, so throwing those things should be roughly the same, right?

I scamper through the leaves, hopping around wet mud that will slow me down. I shiver uncomfortably. All of this time, I've tried to stay out in the open areas of the arena, because I hate enclosed spaces. They suffocate me, and make me feel trapped. Even now, I can feel the horrible feeling of claustrophobia clawing at me. I hate it. I'm feeling sick already.

_You can do this…_I tell myself. _Keep on going. _

I obey my thoughts, desperately running closer to the faint sounds of explosions. There's only one person in the arena that can make explosions, and that's Steven. So I'm heading straight towards him to throw a knife in his neck. By the sounds of it, he's in a fight with someone, so I know that it's not wise to get involved. I think I'll just lob a knife or two at him while he's distracted. They'll probably hit him too, thanks to my knife training. Providing everyone else kills someone, we should lose a few tributes today, which is good news for me if I'm alive.

And I'll be alive.

I'm sure of it.

I burst through the bushes into a clearing, speeding forward and almost bumping into something…no, _someone_.

"Luke! Watch out!" someone yells as I crash into them, tumbling to the ground.

I scramble off the ground, knives in hand and eyes flicking from side to side. In front of me is the boy from Twelve, and the girl from Eleven, who looks to be injured. The boy, Luke, gets up off the floor, and grabs his sword, pointing it at me. I pause for a second, taking the duo in. It's two against one, but both of them are outliers. I've had a lot more training than both of them. I could just take them out now…but that would waste a lot of time. Still, it could save killing them later.

I don't have time to consider things, because Luke and the girl from Eleven don't hesitate. They rush at me. It looks like they made my decision for me.

I duck under Luke's slash, replying with a knee to his stomach. Gripping one of my knives, I stab downwards, only for my arms to be kicked away by the girl, who's wincing. Luke stumbles back, and the girl jumps backwards with him, in pain but ready to fight. My eyes lock onto the bandage around her waist, which is stained red.

"Hmm…" I murmur.

They're not bad. Any lesser tribute would have immediately fallen or made a mistake. It's almost as if these two are coordinated in their attacks, which is something I didn't expect. I suppose I'd better stop underestimating the other tributes. Sure, they're more of a threat, but they're nothing compared to the likes of Tiffany or Steven. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't be wary of them.

I purse my lips. Maybe I'm wasting too much time. I could definitely defeat these two in battle, but for now, I think Steven's death is a lot more important to me than the deaths of two weak outlier tributes. The girl stares at me bravely, as if challenging me to make the next move. Instead, I raise my hands slightly, and quickly launch two knives at the duo. If they're fast on their feet, they'll dodge my attack, but at this moment I don't really care if the knives reach their target.

My distraction works as the duo dodge the knives. I make my escape as quickly as I entered, heading towards the sound of explosions, which is louder now. I smile to myself. Maybe if I had killed those two I might have had time, but now is not the time for risks. I must be careful.

One wrong move, and I'll be dead.

* * *

><p><strong>Tiffany Splendour, Seventeen, District One Female<strong>

* * *

><p>I narrow my eyes.<p>

Taser stands a few feet away from me, seemingly tense and looking fairly _normal_. I guess the good thing here is that he's not psycho at the moment. If he was, then I wouldn't be sure if I would be able to win this fight. But right now? I don't think the odds are tipped in anyone's favour.

I swallow, my throat dry and my hair matted and dirty. My face is covered in grime, and my clothes are damp. I'm tired, cold, and a little annoyed. I forced myself to wake up in order to drag myself to this feast. I'm confident in the supplies that I have already, but there are people that need to be killed in order for me to go home. I was willing to take my chances.

Behind Taser is my other throwing spear, lodged neatly in the mud and ready for me to take. The only thing that stands in my way is Taser. And he's the one I'm fighting. I can hear explosions in the distance, and I can feel the pressure dropping in my bones. It's going to rain again soon. Just when I thought it would be dry for once, the Gamemakers change that. It's not like it's a big deal, but it would be nice for some more sunshine around here.

I suck in a breath, rallying my hope and the belief of my family and friends. Mom, Dad, Essence, Velvet, Royce…all of them are believing in me, hoping that I'll make it back. But this feeling of hope is dying. I've been in here six days, and with every new day my confidence is beginning to ebb away. I'm positive that the other tributes are feeling this way too. This arena is draining our confidence, and it's not good for performance. I'm trying to keep my cool, but if I'm not careful, I'll make a mistake I'll regret.

It's time to fight. I know for sure that Taser won't make the first move, and so I'll make it myself. There's no time to stick around. We both know what we're here for. We both volunteered for this Game. It just depends who's the one that wants to win it more.

With a purr, I leap forward, stabbing at Taser with my spear. Immediately, my spear head clashes against fork of his trident, which he twists. He attempts to disarm me, but I hold fast, keeping my hands clamped onto the shaft of my spear. I push upwards, and my spear comes free. Taser twirls his trident, swiping his weapon at my midsection in swift slashes. I smack him in the side with the butt of my spear, using the spearhead to block his swipes. My strong defence is the only thing keeping my baby from getting cut out of my stomach.

I stab at Taser again, trying to move around him in order to grab my other spear. Taser anticipates this, jumping back from my attack and attempting an undercut with his trident. Rolling to the side, I launch my spear at him and dive towards the other one. He makes an attempt to stab me, but his trident ends up in the ground. I scoop up my spear from the mud and jump to get the one I threw.

Taser's swing smacks into my back, sending me toppling forwards and earning me a gash to my shoulder. Hissing, I scowl at him. Both spears in hand, I begin an assault of jabs, in which Taser sluggishly tries to block. As he raises his arm to stab me, I weave under him and push my spear firmly into his lower leg. With a yell, Taser stumbles back, wrenching my spear out of his wound. At the same time, I wrestle his trident from his grip, sending my other throwing spear into his arm. Taser cries out in pain as he limps away from my next attack. Any form of defence he has is gone now. Smirking slightly, I find an opening. I lift up the trident, getting used to its weight. It's heavier than my spears, but it's something I can manage. I swing the butt of the trident into Taser's jaw, and he stumbles back. He launches one of my spears at me, and I barely dodge it, earning a cut to my leg. I clench my jaw and smack him again with the butt of his trident, using that as a distraction to pull my other spear out of his arm.

Now defenceless and in pain, Taser can only try to dodge my attacks. I jab at him the best I can, but he perseveres, dodging and jumping, blood from his wounds staining the grass red. He soon sees an opening, and runs for one of my spears, but I'm ready for him. Sticking out the trident, I trip him up.

Taser twists and hit the floor on his back; a clever training technique in order to not break your nose upon a fall. I take this chance to grip the trident in my hands and plunge it into his abdomen.

His scream is guttural.

I stumble away from the scene as Taser cries out in pain, tears springing to his eyes as he coughs up blood. It's disgusting, watching him die like this. I tend to make my deaths a little less gory, but I steel myself and approach him again. I need to finish the job. I pluck the trident from his abdomen, my nose wrinkling at his scream of pain. Guilt floods me. I should have stabbed him in the neck, or the heart. He would have died quicker than this.

I raise the trident, ready to kill.

"Wait!"

Taser coughs out one word, a plea of sorts.

"I need to see Mariel before I die…" he mutters. "Please…I beg you…please…"

I bite my lip in frustration. _Fuck!_ What am I supposed to do? The Capitol would want me to just kill him and get on with it, but something's holding me back. Maybe it's something about being a career. I remember in training that we should always respect a dying man's last wish…providing it won't get you killed. I stare down at the young man in front of me. Those injuries are severe. He won't live through this, that's for sure. And what's the harm in letting him see Mariel one last time?

I'm conflicted, confused and cornered by the expectations of everyone I know. In this moment, I feel more vulnerable than I've ever felt before. I want to spare him, but I must be the career the Capitol want me to be.

After a few moments, I drop the trident near Tasers feet.

"Tell your girlfriend I said hi." I hiss wickedly.

Maybe that will lessen the effect of giving him my mercy. Either way, In know my Dad won't be very pleased.

With a face of stone, I snatch up my throwing spears and take off towards the cornucopia. I'll get my stuff, and I'll get out of there. I don't need to put myself in any more risk than I have already. I still need to play it safe, at least for now. There are still too many people in this Game for me to fuck up at this point in time.

With a heavy heart and wounded pride, I set off running.

I need to get out of here.

* * *

><p><strong>Vella Contessa, Fifteen, District Eleven Female<strong>

* * *

><p>I hiss as my wound sends another jolt of pain through my body.<p>

I can't take this much longer. My wound is so painful…but I must carry on. The cornucopia can't be that far away, and I know for sure that getting there and getting out safely is a priority. Without medical supplies, I doubt I'll be able to live for much longer.

The Two girl visited us, and left, just like that. She was acting very strangely. Surely a career would just leap at us and fight to kill? However, the Two girl seemed so much more…distinguished. She never seemed like the type of tribute to think about things, especially when you look back to that fight she had in training with the sassy girl from Three. It looks like I was wrong.

We're lucky to be alive anyway. Luke and I make a strong team, and I don't think either of us would have come this far if we hadn't have teamed up yesterday. Either one of us could have bumped into Nicolo and been skewered by his sword. I shudder at the grim scene in my memories. There was so much blood…

No.

I can't.

I can't think about the loss of life in this arena, because it's the Game we must all play. I have to get my priorities straight. I need to get back to the children of my District. I've decided what I'll do with my winnings already. I'll build an academy for children to train. I'll invest in better homes and hospitals for everyone. Our District will be a safer, happier place. But first, I have to get there. And I will. I'm not giving up. I will fight as hard as I can to get there, because it's not me I'm winning for, it's those children.

Xylem, Nettle, Cherri…all of them are out there, still waiting for me to help them. They still want to play hide and seek with me. They still want to play and joke around. They still want to live in their imaginary worlds. I want to join them there. I want to play Games with them and to have fun. I can't die here. I can't leave them to die back at home. Their families need money, and they need it fast.

That's why I'm going to try to win.

I'm going to try like I've never tried before.

"Vella."

Luke's whisper alerts me to my surroundings. We're at the outskirts of the clearing, across the river from the cornucopia, where a couple of people appear to be fighting. I'd have expected it to be more dangerous than this, but judging by those far off explosions, I think this isn't the hotspot for battles.

"Mariel…Franz…Karina…" Luke whispers.

"What?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Mariel and Franz are fighting Karina," he explains. "It looks like they're trying to distract her so they can get to the cornucopia."

"Wait, why is Karina protecting the cornucopia?" I say, wrinkling my nose. "Where are the careers?"

"Not here," Luke shrugs simply. "They must be fighting somewhere else."

I stare at the fighters for a moment, and then at the river, which flows slowly but steadily. I think crossing that will be a challenge. It'll be difficult, but I'll manage.

"Let's go," Luke says. "We need to get in and out of there while we can."

He leads the way to the riverbank, sitting down and slowly lowering himself in. It comes up to about waist height. He shiver uncomfortably.

"Oooh, that's cold!" he exclaims comically, and I can't help but to laugh.

He turns to me, and offers me a winning smile, before making a goofy face and a stupid pose while in the water. I clasp a hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter. His smile is stretched wide and his eyes are cross eyed. His tongue is sticking out, and along with his arms waving all over the place, he looks hilarious.

He strikes another pose, standing on one leg. For a moment, he wobbles, but the current in the river is too strong, and he falls into the water. At this point, I'm almost crying, so much so that my wound hurts like hell. But I laugh. It feels good to smile after so many days of being worried. I mean, sure, I'm still worried about what's to come, but thanks to Luke, I've managed to remain hopeful all of this time.

Luke resurfaces and spits out water, drenched from head to toe. He frowns mockingly at me, before extending his arms out in front of him.

"Come on, I'll carry you," he offers. "We need to get over the river. We need to move quickly."

He says this seriously, but there's still a smile on his face. His blond hair is sopping wet, and his olive green eyes shimmer jokingly. His smile dims as he looks behind him, as if remembering the situation that's going on right now. How stupid are we? We're joking at a time like this? It's foolish. Still, I did enjoy the laugh.

I hesitate. Luke wants to carry me over the water, but I'm not sure about it. He's probably being nice, but I can't help but think of those leering men in my District that lusted after my body. They'd follow me and chase me, desperately wanting to have sex with me. It's odd really, that I'd think of something like this at this point in time, especially when Luke certainly isn't a lustful pervert. If anything, I'd say that I'd trust Luke to protect me until the time comes for us two to fight.

Wait…I _trust_ him? Do I? I give this thought a short time to develop. He's been kind to me, choosing not to kill me when I bumped into him in the cave. He's protected me ruthlessly, killing Nicolo yesterday. And even now, he's offering to be a good ally by helping me across the river.

Yes.

I think I trust him.

He's done a lot for me, more than most kids my age have ever done. Back in school, the other kids always tried to beat me up, and I've always had to hold my own. But here, with Luke? This is different. He genuinely cares for me. He genuinely wants to help me. And for that, he deserves my trust.

I crouch down and sit in his arms. He lifts me bridal style, and begins to wade slowly across the river. I'm shocked at how he lifts me with ease but handles me so gently. It's comforting in a way. The fact that this boys arms can make me feel so safe is something I get so confused about. How can someone be so strong, so kind, and so funny, and so goddamn cute? I blush at that thought.

He readjusts me in his arms, and I wrap my arm around his neck to help him. It's like a scene from a fairy-tale, the both of us looking into each other's eyes while the drizzle lands softly on our skin and the river trickles on by. It's…romantic…and I like it. It's sweet. There's a feeling inside of me that blossoms, wishing that this moment could last an eternity.

And then, just like that, it's over.

I'm standing on the other side of the river and Luke is dragging himself out of it. I notice that a pale pink hue has risen to his cheeks. He awkwardly stands next to me, rubbing the back of his neck. I smile shyly at him. He's adorable…but can this really last? Can this…thing…between us survive? Of course not, but that doesn't stop me from wanting this.

The battle over my head and heart continues as I follow Luke to the cornucopia. We sneak around the back, avoiding any conflict, before sliding into the mouth of the cornucopia. Inside the golden horn, there's a large wooden table, in which bags are tied to it, all labelled with different numbers. Judging by the bags, only District Seven's bag has been taken. Checking the battle, I can see that Karina has it on her back. Maybe she foresaw this and took the bag in case everything went wrong?  
>The bag certainly seems to be slowing her down, but Mariel doesn't look like she's fighting to kill. She looks like she's fighting to distract.<p>

"Here's our bags!" Luke cries, pointing to two large rucksacks on the table, decorated with a silver _11_ and _12_.

"Awesome," I smile. "Let's untie them and get out of here."

Suddenly someone speaks, a high youthful voice that sends a shoot of adrenaline up my spine.

"Not so fast." they say. "Don't move."

I feel the point of a blade on my spine, and a hand clamp around my arm.

Someone's about to kill me.

* * *

><p><strong>Shaune Greyson, Eighteen, District Five Male<strong>

* * *

><p>I swipe my metal bar to the side, batting off another bomb. I'm making my way slowly towards the boy from Two. I'm surprised that the Gamemakers let this kid have his bombs to play around with, but I guess I can't say anything. After all, it's not every day that Gamemakers add a large metal bar to the pile of weapons at the cornucopia. It's almost as if they believed that I'd go far in the Hunger Games. As much as I don't really want to admit it, it is a big ego boost to know that they have some kind of confidence in me.<p>

I swipe the air again and another bomb flies off into the forest. We're making quite the clearing around here, seen as trees are falling down left and right.

While I fight, my family flies to the forefront of my mind. Jonathan's safety is something that still plagues me. I'm still worried about how my Dad must be behaving at the moment. Ever since Mom was electrocuted to death for starting that rebellion, he drunk our money away and he's been irritable ever since. We used to be such a happy family…and now? Look at us. The District hates us. My Dad hates Jonathan and I. There's nowhere else for us to turn.

What if things had been different? What if Mom never started that rebellion in that power plant? What if she never blew it up? Would we still be the same? Would we still be the happy family we once were? I bite the inside of my cheek in anger, tasting blood. Is it my Mom's fault? Did she bring this onto us? Or was she only trying to fight for our freedom, in the hopes that our lives could be better.

I don't remember much from before Mom died. Dad's beatings and days of hard work has forced my happy memories to fade with age. However, I do remember the times when we laughed together as a family, with Jonathan shrieking as he rode on Dad's shoulders, and my Mom and I laughing and watching. I know that my Dad was a popular guy in town, and everyone loved him. Only now, that's not the case anymore. His friends left him when Mom died. Maybe it really is her fault that we're here now. Her foolishness led us to live a horrible life, when we could have stayed happy, or at least, happier than we have been the past few years.

I slash at the air, but the ball instead explodes nearby, the blast knocking me clean off my feet. I struggle to stand up as the next bomb flies through the air. I shakily dive out the way, but I'm too slow.

I feel pain.

So much pain.

I scream in agony as the explosion destroys a portion of my side. I cough painfully, wheezing and gasping. I don't want to look down and inspect the damage, but I know that I need to. Trembling, I look down.

I'm not looking good.

Below my chest, a whole portion of my body has been blown off, some of the intestines inside burnt and charred. I have no right leg, the limb having been blown off completely. I would have thought that the explosion might have cauterised the wound, but in some places, I'm still bleeding profusely. I'm feeling kind of giddy, and I know that my body has gone into shock. Fuck, is this the end of me already? I can't leave Jonathan behind…no! No! I can't let him live with my Dad. He'll beat the shit out of him! I must live, I have to help him. I have to protect Jonathan, if it's the last thing I do. And Franz…I want to at least say goodbye to him. I want him to know that I want him to win. If only he was here.

Jonathan…

Franz…

Mom…

Why has everyone I've ever loved left me here alone? What have I ever done to deserve this? Why do I have to end up being the one in pain?

I see the Two boy throw another grenade at me, the explosive soaring through the air.

This is my end, but I don't want to go.

These Games aren't fair to me. They aren't fair to anyone.

But that doesn't stop me from asking why. Why did I have to fall to someone else? Why can't I live on? But I know why. It's because I played a game, a risky game filled with stupid decisions fuelled by reckless instinct. And that's led me to where I am now.

Alone, upset, and afraid.

And on these final thoughts, my world explodes into a sea of orange flame.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Massai Puna, Twelve years old, District Eleven<strong>__**Male **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 24**__**th  
><strong>__**Florescent Neista, Fourteen years old, District Five Female **__– Stabbed to death by Hans Schmittling. __**Placed 23**__**rd  
><strong>__**Rachelle McKenzie, Fifteen years old, District Three Female**__ - Stabbed in the heart by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 22**__**nd**__**  
>Adelaide "Addie" Plum, Twelve years old, District Nine Female<strong>__ – Neck broken by Taser Shock. __**Placed 21**__**st  
><strong>__**Ali Combs, Seventeen years old, District Eight Female**__ – Beaten to death by Taser Shock. __**Placed 20**__**th**__**  
>Skyla Truce, Sixteen year old, District Ten Female <strong>__– Speared to death by Tiffany Splendour. __**Placed 19**__**th**__**  
>Hans Schmittling, Eighteen years old, District One Male – <strong>__Throat slit by Kleska Giori. __**Placed 18**__**th  
><strong>__**Kip Lightcomb, Sixteen years old, District Ten Male – **__Mauled by mutts. __**Placed 17**__**th**__**  
>Zest Churna, Thirteen years old, District Six Female – <strong>__Bludgeoned to death by Taser Shock. __**Placed 16**__**th**__**  
>Sedan Bristol, Seventeen years old, District Six Male – <strong>__Impaled by Nicolo Boone. __**Placed 15**__**th  
><strong>__**Charlotte Moore, Sixteen years old, District Twelve Female – **__Bled out from a sustained injury. __**Placed 14**__**th  
><strong>__**Nicolo Boone, Fourteen years old, District Eight Male – **__Stabbed in the heart by Luke Coloss.__** Placed 13**__**th**_

_**Shaune Greyson, Eighteen years old, District Five Male:**__Shaune was an awesome character. I really loved his inner turmoil, and the way he held himself. I fell in love with his backstory; with Jonathan and his abusive father. I've seen abusive parents in backstories before, but Shaune wasn't a victim, he was his brother's hero. I really did enjoy Shaune, but it was his time to go. I wish I could have found more ways to develop him. __**Blown up by Steven "Spray" Krane. Placed 12th**_

* * *

><p><strong>You can go and see the results of the poll! I've decided on a victor now, but these poll results will definitely help me to move around some placings that I think should be changed. <strong>

**I'm sorry if some POV's seem shorter than others; there's just more stuff happening in those POV's, and they just happen to take up more words! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! :D**

**What do you think of the mass battle so far? I hope that there's enough action for you! Also, will you miss Shaune? Did you like him as a character, or are you happy to see him go?**

**More deaths are coming, so it's going to get more exciting! Stay tuned for that! :) **

**AND ALSO GUESS WHAT? THREE CHAPTERS UNTIL THE FINALE! :O**

**Over and out!**

**~Mental**


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